Everybody Wants To Rule The World
by Kurojouou
Summary: A Lannister sits on the Throne as another Queen, younger, more beautiful, finally makes her way to claim her birthright. But the real war is up North, where a new King is chosen as Winter creeps in. Arya returns to Westeros for vengeance but when has anything gone according to her plans? [Chapter 22 has been edited for those who have read it already]
1. Arya I

Chapter I: The Return

She poured herself some water from the jug, her fingers working slowly as her mind was occupied somewhere else. She was contemplating a thousand things at once, but the most important question was still unanswered in her head.

 _North or South?_

Her revenge would take her South, down to the streets of King's Landing, the place haunting numerous of her dreams as the center of all that went wrong.

 _Mycah, Jory, Father..._

 _Cersei Lannister, The Mountain..._

Her revenge was closer than ever, and just one simple decision away. But somehow she couldn't decide. She couldn't choose between the one thing she wanted and the one thing she feared she needed more than she realized.

Her family. Her home.

 _My sister. My brother._

The news of the Starks taking back Winterfell had filled her cold heart with warmth. It was the first time in years she had truly felt happy. She wanted to see them. Sansa, who she had no doubt has grown into a beautiful woman. Rickon, who she remembered as a little, wild boy who ran around the castle with Shaggy in tow.

But she wanted to see Jon most of all.

She wanted to close her eyes and feel his fingers muss her hair. She wanted to show him Needle, to tell him she had kept it all this while, and that it had saved her life more times than she could remember. She knew he was a Lord now and she was far from being a Lady. She only hoped Jon hadn't changed. That the boy with the warm smile and the young eyes still lived, that he, like her, didn't have to lose who he was.

Her lids were slowly getting heavy. Her body demanded sleep, a lot of it. But she knew she couldn't. She drank the water in one gulp and laid back on the bed, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her thoughts started drifting away. She could make her decision in the morning, but she couldn't resist the warmth of the featherbed now, and in a few seconds her eyes were closed.

It was the sound of hurried footsteps that woke her up, and Arya became alert, her hand gripping her Needle and her ears searching and amplifying every sound.

She stood up, barely making any sound as she tiptoed with bare feet to the door. With a vice-like grip intact on her lithe sword, she pressed her ear to the door.

There was no sound for a few seconds, then the footsteps again, and she shrank back just before the door was banged open with an unbelievable strength.

"Are you hiding here, you arse! I'll break your bones-"

She was gaping now, the breath sucked out from her lungs as the man in front of her looked hastily around the room and finally fixed his eyes on her. His eyes narrowed.

"Are you alone, woman?"

Arya couldn't find her voice. Her hand loosened its grip on Needle.

 _Impossible._

The man repeated his question, this time harsher, but her shock kept her from answering.

"Are you dumb, you bloody-"

She caught the exact moment his eyes drifted to her hand and realization hit him.

"Seven hells!"

"I left you to die...," Arya finally whispered in awe. "It's impossible."

In an instant he lunged at her and Arya's instinct moved her away from his path as she dodged him and placed Needle against his throat in a heartbeat.

"You think that puny sword of yours can save you girl?" He roared and pushed her away, pouncing again, but Arya was jumping faster than he was moving. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Sandor! Stop it!"

He did stop abruptly as Arya turned to look at the familiar figure standing near the door.

"Stay away from this, Beric!" Sandor yelled. Arya gasped as he almost came too close to her and she looked at him angrily.

"Fuck you Hound! Stop this bloody nonsense!"

Sandor clenched his jaw and cursed under his breath. He turned with furious eyes to Beric, but Arya noticed his body become less tense.

"Did you come here to attack a woman?" Beric asked angrily.

"She is no woman!" The Hound grabbed her arm. "This is the little wolf bitch whom I kidnapped. Can't you see that sword? That's her fucking Needle."

"Leave my arm, Sandor," Arya warned. She was getting annoyed by this. This was not supposed to happen. She hated when her plans had to be changed.

"Arya Stark," she heard Beric exclaim in awe. "Princess Arya."

"I'm no princess!" She pulled herself away from them and turned around to walk to her bedside. She pulled out the pouch of coins from underneath and pillow.

"You can leave now. I am fairly sure I'm not the one you're searching for." Her eyes were cold again when she turned to look at the men. "Be on your way. I want nothing to do with either of you."

But Beric blocked her way out of the room.

"I'll not ask twice, Lord Beric."

"You are in no position to make threats, Lady Stark," Sandor mocked from behind her. She felt an undeniable desire to gut him, and this time to silence him for real.

Beric got down on one knee, and Arya rolled her eyes.

"For Gods' sake, Beric, get up!"

He looked up at her.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered.

"I told him I'd live longer than him." She pointed towards Sandor.

"Aye, that she did," Sandor said.

"This is not a safe place for you, Lady Arya. This place is swarmed with Lannisters and Freys. We could keep you safe if you come with us."

"I don't need your help," she said, but Beric stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Let me take you North," he said. "Please, Lady Stark, the last thing I want is to live with the regret of not getting you to your family. Again."

"Not if she has other plans," Sandor muttered, and Arya turned to glare at him.

"I can speak for myself, Hound. Shut your bloody mouth for once." Before he could reply with another remark, she turned to Beric with a sarcastic smile.

"And why would you do that?" She asked. "There is no King in the North to reward you anymore."

She saw Beric look past her at Sandor, and she noticed the look pass between them. Before she could make it out herself, Beric cleared her confusion.

"My Lady... There _is_ a King in the North now. Your half-brother Jon Snow was crowned the King."

A/N: New story!

This fic will be largely based on the show. It takes place after S6E10, but I'll add a few necessary elements from the books also.

Thanks for reading and comment.


	2. Jaime I

Chapter II: The Conflict

"So is this what you wanted all along?" He asked.

"I've always been a Queen, Jaime," Cersei replied, sipping her wine, strangely calm, enough to make him anxious. "Only now I don't have anyone above me."

She put her goblet down and bringing her crown down from her head, started tracing it with her finger, with a smile on her lips. He was desperately trying to convince himself she hadn't gone mad, but she was making it harder for him to do so.

"Our son is dead Cersei," he said. "And you are smiling at your crown. Was it more important than Tommen?"

She turned to look at him with daggers in her eyes.

"He was my son and I loved him more than anything! But he leapt to his death because he would rather die with his whore of a wife than live with his Mother who loved him unconditionally." She looked back at her crown. "It's the prophecy, Jaime. I told you she was right. Gold their crowns and gold their shrouds. They were always fated to die before me."

"If you hadn't burned the Sept Tommen would be alive!" Jaime shouted, cursing the moment he had left for Riverrun. He should have been here with his son, no matter what he had said to him.

"I was tired of people telling me what to do. So I burned everyone who thought they were better than me. Everyone who thought I was weak."

"You talk like a mad Queen," he said, shaking his head. "You burned half the city down, and you think your actions are justified."

He had failed to see the truth. All that she had ever wanted was power, and Jaime had underestimated the measures she was willing to take to claim what she desired. But of all the women he knew, he never thought Cersei would be smiling after her son's death. He refused to believe it even now.

"It is justified, Jaime. I killed Margaery because she wanted to take my place as the Queen, I let her brother and her Father die just so. I killed the High Sparrow because he shamed me in front of every man and woman in this city and because he thought he had the right to judge me." She walked over to the window. "The others were just casualties. But I've set an example that anyone who dares defy me will be burnt to ashes."

Jaime stared at the back of her head.

 _What has she become?_

They were far from perfect, but this was the gravest crime Cersei had ever committed, and he couldn't bring himself to look past that.

"We have made enemies now," he warned.

"Who?" She asked sarcastically. "The old Queen of Thorns who does nothing but talk? She barely has any strength left in her. She will wither and die before we know it."

He opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by the sound of the door opening. Qyburn looked at him and bowing slightly, turned to the new Queen of Westeros.

"Your Grace," he said. "There is news from Riverrun."

Jaime frowned at him.

"What news?" Cersei asked.

"Someone has murdered Walder Frey, Your Grace. Two of his sons as well. They were...," Qyburn hesitated. "Their parts were found baked into a pie which Lord Frey was presumedly eating."

Jaime cringed at the thought. He was disgusted and astonished.

 _But he was alive when I left him._

Who would murder Freys and mutilate them?

But he wasn't young to deny he felt pleased the old shit was no more. He spoke too much for his taste.

Cersei turned around and looked at him.

"See? There are things worse than burning, Jaime. I am hardly a monster. At least I don't bake people."

Jaime didn't say anything.

"It means Riverrun needs a Lord now," Cersei spoke again. "Ser Jaime will take Riverrun for himself. I have had enough of these good for nothing Freys. Leave, Lord Qyburn."

"I am not going anywhere," Jaime told her, as the door closed behind the former Maester.

"I don't think I was asking you."

"Please, Cersei," he insisted. "Don't do this. Let me stay with you."

Her eyes softened but only for a second.

"You will go to Riverrun. I command you as your Queen."

For the first time in many years, he wanted to hit her. The power was getting to her head and he knew her madness would only grow if he wasn't here to control her actions. But he was far from begging, and if Cersei wanted him to do it, he wouldn't give her the pleasure.

"Cersei, I'm telling you-"

"I want you to leave at daybreak," she interrupted him.

Jaime stared at her hard for a few minutes then only nodded. As he turned to walk out the door she called him again.

"I love you Jaime," she said, and he heard the voice of the woman she was before he left for Riverrun. "But this is what I was always meant to be, and I don't want to hear anyone telling me what to do ever again. Not even you."

 _I wouldn't order you. I would just love you._

But it was too late for that. Cersei had been his sister, then his lover, then the mother of his children. But now she was nothing but a Queen.

 _That's what she had always wanted to be_ , he thought.

 _And she is willing to give up even me for that._

* * *

A/N: Review folks!


	3. Arya II

Chapter III: The Brotherhood

Arya willed her horse to a slow pace as her companions finally caught up with her. She had rode ahead trying to get her mind to steady and for the news to sink in, good and bad alike.

It was a conundrum, really. She was supposed to feel proud of Jon and be ecstatic because he was now crowned the King, and after years of ignorance, he would finally get what he deserved. He would be respected and loved, and that was something Arya knew Jon Snow had always craved for but never said out loud. Her mother's ignorance and his status as the bastard had always made Jon feel low. He didn't tell her- he never told no one- but Arya had always known him and loved him more than anyone else.

But on the other hand, her other brother was dead. Her little brother, whom she never got the chance to know properly. Ramsay Bolton had killed him and Arya had made up her mind to give him the gift when Beric told her he was already dead, devoured by his own hungry and bloodthirsty hounds. It was not quite so unlike a death she would have give him herself.

It was hard to talk after that, so she had only nodded when Beric had offered her to come with him and the others. She was not going to stay with them, that much she was sure of. She knew where she wanted to go.

Vengeance was something she couldn't give up, but right now, she needed to see her family- or what was left of them. She needed Jon to smile at her with his lovely eyes and Sansa to look at her clothes with disapproval. She needed to make sure they were safe. They were the last of her pack, and she wasn't going to let anyone kill them or slaughter them.

 _The pack must survive._

Revenge drove her forward. It kept her awake at night, and it made her who she was. Everything she was, she wouldn't be if she wasn't so driven to bring justice for her dead parents and siblings. Her list had two names still.

 _And justice will be served, no matter what._

"We are almost there," Beric told her. They were heading towards the place the Brotherhood stayed. It would do some good for her to see old acquaintances, she thought and nodded.

 _I'll leave after night falls_ , she decided. _Beric would be long asleep._

Sandor was quiet beside her. She wanted to ask him how he had survived those wounds, but he looked like he didn't appreciate her company. It didn't surprise her in the least.

After riding for fifteen minutes, they finally reached their destination. She noticed only one figure from where she was, and no one else was in sight.

"I see only Thoros. Where are the others?" She asked, glancing around.

"They are in the back, most likely." Beric jumped down from his horse, and Arya followed.

"They would be surprised to see you, Princess," he added.

Arya shot him a brief look.

"I'm not a Princess," she said. "Don't call me that again."

"But you are," Beric insisted.

Arya shook her head and walked forward. Thoros turned, and from the look on his face, he was remembering her though it was coming slowly to him. It took a while before he finally recognized her. Thoros stood up with wide eyes and bowed clumsily. Arya remembered a time when she used to be clumsy. Now she couldn't afford to be.

"Arya Stark of Winterfell," he acknowledged.

"That's better," Arya said, turning to smirk at Beric.

"I didn't think I'd see you again, My Lady," Thoros said.

"Neither did I," a voice called.

Arya turned her head and her heart leapt in her chest. Her grey eyes were met by a pair as blue as the sky. He was gaping at her, his jaw dropped. He was staring at her like she was someone he'd never seen before.

"M'lady."

She ran to him and jumped up at him, as his strong arms enveloped her little body. Arya was sure she had lost him, that after the Red Woman took him, she had killed him.

 _But he isn't dead._

Gendry was right here, her only best friend since leaving home. They once finished sentences together, like she did with Jon what felt like decades ago.

"You've grown heavier," he muttered and she kicked him lightly. He grimaced.

"Shut up, bull."

Arya pulled herself away and laughed.

"It's good to see you again, Arry," Gendry said, looking down at her with a smile. He was so tall now, and bigger, but he still smiled liked an idiot would.

"You too, old friend," she whispered with equal fondness in her voice. She remembered how angry she'd been when the Red Woman had taken him away.

"Her," she said, remembering the woman and her words to her. "She took you. What happened?"

Gendry lowered his eyes to the ground and shook his head. When he looked back up at her, he was smiling but it didn't reach his eyes.

"It's the past, Arry. I don't want to talk about it."

"It's alright," she assured him. They couldn't change the past even if they wanted to, and perhaps it would be wise not to recall things not worth recalling.

"So, Milady," he said and received a punch inthe arm for it. "Will you stay?"

She didn't want to lie to him but she couldn't stay either. She wanted to go home to Winterfell, and roaming around with the Brotherhood would only result in delays she couldn't afford.

"I'm still thinking," she said. It wasn't the truth, but wasn't a lie either. Not really.


	4. Jon I

Chapter IV: The Old Friend

It was strange to wake up inside Winterfell's walls. He had been destined not to return since the day he had left for the Night's Watch with Uncle Benjen. But cruel circumstances had forced him to break his vows which he had made before the Old Gods, and here he was, a King, a status he wouldn't have deemed himself worthy of in the best of his dreams.

The castle was the same. It took a few days for them to fully dispose of everything Bolton from it, but as he looked out into the snow falling over the land, he felt like he still wasn't home. He had Sansa, of course, but his brothers were gone and his Father and Lady Catelyn.

His wild, little nuisance of a sister was gone. Only Gods knew where she was, whether she was alive or not. He and Arya had always been the outcasts of the family and it led to them being the closest of them all. Robb had always been Jon's best friend and confidant but Arya, she had been a breath of fresh air in his life.

 _Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle_ , he thought and prayed to whatever Gods resided in the heavens that there was truth in these words he had once told her.

He missed her terribly.

0-0-0-0-0

Sansa looked happier. Maybe it was because she was happy to be back in her home again or because she was finally free of the clutches of those who had trapped her. Nevertheless, Jon felt pride in knowing he had given her what she wanted and though he knew she was far from the Sansa who once sang love ballads and loved listening to the stories of Florian and Jonquil, at certain times he could swear he saw her smile the way she had when they were younger and happier.

"A raven, Your Grace."

Jon tensed immediately when he saw the seal on the top of the scroll. A Lannister had never written anything to him but seeing as he was a King of an independent North now, he could expect the Crown to react. But it surprised him to see the name written at the bottom of the page. A name he hadn't expected to see ever in his life.

 _Your Grace,_

 _It has been quite a while since I last saw you, Jon. Unfortunately, we never got a chance to be good friends. I hope this finds you in good health. And please offer my regards to my lovely wife, Sansa. You must be astonished I'm alive, but fear not, I'm not writing from beyond the grave._

 _After escaping from the capital, I ended up in Meeren. But if I start telling you the whole account now, I will surely run out of ink and paper, and there are more important things I must ask of you first._

 _I am currently in the company of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the Mother of Dragons. I believe you have heard of her and if you haven't, know that she is the rightful heir to the Throne and if you trust my judgement, a sane and wise ruler than my dear sister could ever be._

 _I write to tell you Her Grace sails with the Tyrell, Dornish and the Iron Fleet to Westeros. In time, she will take back her birthright, but before that, there are a few things she desires. I know you are now the King in the North, and The North is again free of the Throne's reach._

 _Swear fealty to Queen Daenerys and she will reward you well. She has no enmity against the Starks other than a few old ones, but they may be overlooked should you kneel before her. Cersei is no friend of mine or yours, and it is time a rightful ruler sits on the Iron Throne._

 _Think wisely, Jon. She will have the Throne in due time, and it will do the North good to stay on her good side._

 _Tyrion Lannister_

 _Hand of the Queen Daenerys Targaryen_

"Are you alright, Jon?" Sansa asked, looking at him with curiosity. "Who is it from?"

Jon held his head in his hands.

 _Dragons... Targaryens..._

The last Targaryen was killed at the Trident, but he had heard reports of Rhaegar's sister born amidst a ruthless storm. She had married a Khal and that was the last news he had heard of her.

 _A Targaryen on the Throne._

How could he swear fealty to the daughter of the Mad King who had burned his Uncle Brandon and Grandfather Rickard? How could he support the House his Father once fought against? She was the sister of the man who had kidnapped his Aunt and raped her.

But she had dragons. It struck something in Jon's head and suddenly he was torn in two directions.

He handed the letter to Sansa who took it immediately. He heard her gasp.

"What will you do?" She asked in bewilderment. "We've only just got the North back. If you bend the knee, you will not be a King anymore. It will infuriate the Lords."

"She has dragons, Sansa," he said, his voice a whisper.

He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"It doesn't matter if she does. She comes for the Throne. She can have it. We want nothing of her war."

"Dragons breathe fire," he said like a child in awe. "She could help us in the real war."

"How?"

"Fire burns the dead. No one knows of the White Walkers, but they are a foe far more dangerous. It wouldn't matter who sits on the Throne. We need to defeat the Walkers and dragons... dragons are the only things that can."


	5. Arya III

Chapter V: The Revelation

The air was filled with the smell of roasted meat. Earlier that day, she had caught six plump rabbits, driving her knives right through their hearts. The men were astonished, but she had just shrugged. Because of Beric, she didn't break her fast at the inn, and her stomach was growling impatiently.

As her teeth sunk into the flesh, she remembered the dream she had the night before. The taste of blood, metallic and sticky on her tongue. She stopped for a split second wondering if her hunts made her feel hungrier, then starting eating again. The dream had left her flustered. It felt as if she was in truth standing in front of her prey, baring her teeth, then howling into the soundless night as she sunk her fangs into the deer's neck and ripped it open, almost like she had been howling herself lying on the bed at the inn.

"I'll take the first watch," she volunteered, after the place was cleared and the night chill started creeping in.

"I'll give you company," Gendry offered.

Arya narrowed her eyes. Everyone must be asleep for her to be able to escape. She shook her head at him.

"I can manage it myself, Gendry," she said, resisting the urge to call him a stupid bull. Perhaps it was too early for that.

"I'm staying up, M'lady. Whether you like it or not," he replied stubbornly.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Gendry, I told you I can-"

"No, I'm staying," he interrupted her.

She opened her mouth again but Beric's voice stopped her.

"Both of you can stay awake if you want to. But let _us_ sleep at least," he said, tiredly. Arya clenched her jaw, angry at the idiot who was now smirking at her.

"Stupid bull," she muttered under her breath.

"What did you call me, M'lady?" He asked sarcastically, looking too amused by her irritation. Arya clenched her fists and slumped down under a tree, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, trying to make out how to make the idiot sleep or at least doze for a while so that she could slip by without him noticing.

She heard a weight drop beside her.

"Why are you so angry at everything?" He asked.

She turned her eyes to him, her lips pursed. He was looking at her curiously, faces inches away from hers and their shoulders were touching each other's. He had a stubble now, peppered all over his jaw. He looked so much older, and so not like the boy she had known.

 _Do I look that different now too?_

"I just want you to let me take the first watch. _Alone_."

"Why? What's wrong with me accompanying you?"

Arya bit her lip and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Because I need to leave," she said. "And I want no one to know about it."

Gendry's eyes widened and he took hold of her hand.

"You are leaving?" He asked, gripping her arm tightly.

Arya raised her brows at his hand and he pulled it away. His eyes softened.

"You just came back," he whispered.

Arya sighed and closed her eyes again.

"I cannot stay, I need to go back home. My family needs me, and I know Beric would never let me go alone. He doesn't know I am more than capab-"

Her back arched as her lungs took in air sharply. Her vision was blurring and she heard Gendry's voice but it was so vague as if he was standing miles away from her. She saw snow and a big weirwood tree, it's branches thicker and longer than the tree in the Godswood.

 _Sister. Arya, listen to me._

 _Bran_ , she wanted to shout, but she could only see and hear and do nothing else.

 _You have to find her. She is waiting. I'll show you the way. Find her._

Arya's vision returned, a surge of energy running through her. She gulped and frantically looked around herself. Gendry was kneeling in front of her, his hands holding her own as he was looking worriedly at her.

"What happened?" She asked, finding her voice with great difficulty.

"Your eyes," Gendry said in a hushed breath. "Your eyes turned white."

 _You have to find her._

 _Find her._

"I need to find her," she whispered.

"Who?" He asked, puzzled.

Arya stood up and Gendry followed. She looked him in the eye and shook her head.

"I have to go," she said. Bran was alive, her brother, and he was talking to her minutes ago. The voice from the Weirwood tree was his. She had to do what he asked. Perhaps it will lead her to Bran.

"No, you're not."

"Gendry, please, I have to!" She said impatiently.

"If you're going to Winterfell, let me come with you," he offered.

"There was one time I wanted you to go with me. You refused. This time, I don't want you to, so _don't_."

He cursed.

"I am sorry for that. I truly am. Let me make up to you, please."

"No." She held up her hand. "Do you have a cloak?"

Gendry kept his eyes fixed at her. Arya grew impatient and asked him again, this time more roughly.

"I do," he said. "It's in my tent."

She nodded and went towards his tent. Her own belongings were nothing but a pouch of silver and her Needle. She went inside the tent, and beside his bed, among the clothes strewn about haphazardly, she found the cloak. It was so large it would flow about her feet, but all she wanted was to protect herself from the cold and nothing else. She swung it over her arm and walked back to Gendry again. He stood still in his place. She didn't want to hurt him, but he should know that she wasn't a little lost girl anymore. She had done and had to do things he could never fathom. After being alone for so long, she was used to making decisions herself and doing what she wanted to. It was _her_ , not him, not anyone else.

"Can I take a horse?" She asked him, but he was refusing to meet her eyes.

"Of course, Your Highness."

Arya hit him sharply on the arm and when he didn't respond, she rested her hand on his cheek.

"Please understand, Gendry. I have to go."

He forced a smile.

"I understand."

"Tell Beric and the others I punched you and knocked you out cold and escaped, okay?"

Gendry chuckled.

"You cannot do that, Arry."

Arya felt a little relieved. She saddled her horse quickly and wrapped the cloak around herself. After throwing him a brief smile, she mounted it.

"Please don't hate me," she said, glancing back.

"I could never hate you," he said back, smiling his stupid Gendry smile. It made her smile as well.

"I will see you again, I promise," she told him, and kicked her horse as she rode into the night.

 _Find her. Find her._


	6. Bran I

Chapter VI: The Raven

Bran put his hand over the tree, his head lolling back and his thoughts being replaced by visions; past, present and future.

He searched among them for his sister. His older sister with dark brown hair and grey and chillingly cold eyes. He searched for her among the vast cold of the North, but she wasn't there. When he looked further south, he found her finally, his sister once lost to time and tragedy, riding her horse faster than most men could, running towards his voice. Bran concentrated harder, trying to talk to her again, like he had done earlier.

 _Arya. Arya._

She stopped abruptly, pulling the reins of the mare, her eyes darting around herself in caution and anticipation alike. Bran saw the hilt of a sword peeking through her cloak, wrapped closely around her body to keep off the chill.

Arya jumped down from her horse, her hand clasped over her one and only weapon and stood still as if to make out from where his voice was coming.

Bran was standing right behind her, looking at her lovingly, seeing her for the first time in years. and he felt the need to hug her tightly, to tell her he had missed her, and that he was so, so happy she was alive. But she couldn't see him, not even if he tried his best to make her. Perhaps it was better she couldn't.

Bran smiled at her, taking in how much she had grown in height, even though she looked to be a few inches shorter than him. It had been years, but it had felt like decades. He remembered the times both of them had run around Winterfell, getting all covered up in dirt and mud, and Arya covering up for him, telling their Mother it was her fault and not his.

Bran took a deep breath, pushing his feelings away in some deep corner of his heart. For now, he needed to guide her and help her, even if she wouldn't and couldn't know it. He needed to help all of them.

"Bran?" She asked in a hushed breath, and he heard the tremble in her voice. "Are you here?"

"Yes," he replied. "I am here, Arya."

He saw the look of relief on her face, and her eyes glisten with tears. Arya laughed softly, and fell to her knees with a sob.

"You're alive," she murmured. "You're alive, Bran."

Bran laid a hand on her shoulder, feeling his own tears hit his eyes, but he swallowed them down.

"I cannot see you," she said, aghast. "How can I not see you but hear you?"

"It is not wise for us to meet yet, dear sister," he said.

"When will we, then?" She asked, trying to trace the direction of his voice but Bran knew she wouldn't be able to.

"Not now," he replied, sadly. "I need you to listen to me meanwhile. Will you?"

"Yes," she replied, looking up. Her cloak was flowing about her knees.

Bran smiled. He knew everything Arya had been through, and it was high time she felt happiness, or what kind of joy she allowed herself to feel. He gripped her shoulder.

"Close your eyes," he told her, shutting his own in the process. Arya readily did what he asked, wiping what remained of the tears with the back of her fist. Bran's real body inched closer to the weirwood tree, while the one standing beside Arya kept his eyes closed.

"Open."

He was gone. He was back in his body and had disappeared from beside her. Arya slowly opened her lids, blinking once, twice, before her eyes fell on the darkness. Moments later, two bright yellow eyes stared back at her. Bran saw his sister's disbelieving expression, eyes brimming with new tears ready to spill again. Arya reached out her hand reluctantly, and the beast inched closer. Bran suddenly felt sad, remembering Summer, but the look of joy on his sister's eyes was enough for him for now.

In a flash of seconds, they were staring eye to eye and Arya was sobbing openly, her mask crumbling down and turning to tears of joy. Arya wrapped her arms around the direwolf, almost jumping on her, sobbing and hiding her face in Nymeria's fur. The wolf was as big as Summer had been, if not bigger. Bran watched as Nymeria licked Arya's face when she pulled away. Arya hugged her tighter, crying and laughing at the same time, and Nymeria howled into the soundless night, breaking the silence as it echoed through the darkness.

They both had their best friends back.

Bran pulled his hand away, still smiling. Beside him, Meera was looking at him curiously, placing her hand over his arm. Bran nodded his head at her, feeling satisfaction dwell within him.

"It is done."


	7. Jon II

Chapter VII: The Pack

Jon felt Ghost nuzzle against his leg. He crouched down and scratched him behind the ear, a smile eliciting from his lips. Tormund was looking at them with scrutiny.

"That beast of yours had disappeared," he said.

Jon nodded. Ghost had been away for days, but he knew where his friend had been. He had seen through his eyes, and he recollected flashes of trees and land without winter.

"He went South," Jon replied, eyes cast down on the direwolf as he sat back. Ghost looked at him too, then as if understanding, slowly slipped away, earning short and sharp gasps from some of the women and men aike.

Tormund guffawed.

"Wolves in the South, eh?" He raised his brow.

"He was running for long, searching for something, I think. I know he was there. Only he himself knows why."

"You still have wolf dreams, Lord Crow?"

"Yes," Jon sighed. "You know what I am. It's not unusual."

The Wilding shook his head and laughed good-heartedly.

"Aye, I know." He propped his elbow up on the table. "I knew a man once, King Crow. He was as pretty as you, and knew how to change skins even better. Shadowcats, wolves, crows. But the dreams got to him, and consumed him whole. You have a rare gift, Jon Snow. But remember what your true form is. Too much warging, and you might become as beastly as that white pup of yours."

Jon stayed quiet. The wolf dreams were getting frequent now, and Ghost had been restless for days. He had roamed through the wild, and Jon had felt the anxiousness of his wolf seep into his own skin. He knew that Tormund was right, but Jon couldn't control the dreams; he never had been able to. Ghost was a part of him now, in dreams as much as in life.

And he had been seeing strange things too. Ghost had never strayed so far South before, and Jon somehow knew it was the Riverlands or at least some place near it. But Ghost hadn't been hunting. He had ignored the smell of prey and had refused to hunt even when Jon himself felt the need for food. Whatever he searched for, before it could be found, the dreams would end every time. When he woke up, sweat beaded on his brow and he felt like he had ran a thousand miles continuously without any destination.

He had his dinner with Sansa silently, both of them quietly trying to figure out how to tell the Lords about the Dragon Queen. Jon couldn't make out exactly what she was thinking, but he guessed that she was against his decision to bend his knee. She had agreed to his decision, but it was unlikely she truly gave him her support. It was hard to understand her unspoken words, most of all after he saw her whispering to Littlefinger some days before. He was conflicted already about trusting her, and she was making it harder. He loved her, but trust was something else entirely.

 _Perhaps she wants to be Queen_ , he thought.

It had been her own brother, after all, who was the King in the North. Jon was just a bastard, a baseborn son, and yet he had snatched from her what was her right by blood. But he had never even thought of becoming King before Lyanna Mormont had said his name out loud before every Northern Lord. He had been contended with being back in his home, and Jon would gladly give Sansa the Crown if she asks for it. She only had to ask if she truly wanted it.

Just as he was about to retire, one of servants, a skinny little boy of thirteen, entered the room and managed a little, half-bow.

"Your Grace," he said, with a small voice. "There is someone at the gates. Ser Davos asks for you."

Jon nodded and stole a glance at Sansa.

"At this hour?" She asked, curious.

Jon stood up and offered her his arm. They both walked out of the castle, and Jon felt the cold seep into his skin even through the thick, furred cloak he was wearing.

 _Winter has truly come_.

"Your Grace. My Lady." Davos bowed his head in acknowledgement. "The sentry spotted a lone rider in the snow. He is coming this way. I didn't have the gates opened fearing it might be an enemy."

The yellow light of the torches bathed the snow-covered ground. The wind was getting harsher every passing second, and Jon watched as the guards tried their hardest to hide that they were shivering.

"Perhaps he needs shelter?" Sansa recommended.

"Most probable, Princess," Davos replied.

"Open the gates!" Jon ordered. It was one man. What harm could he do when there were hundreds of them inside the walls?

His body and mind were cautious, as the gates were slowly opening. Jon sucked in a breath as the temperature around him dropped, and in the blink of an eye, the torches were blown out by a sharp gush of wind. The men stood in the moonlight, a few of them rushing to relight the fires. His eyes fell on his direwolf who went ahead and slipped through the small opening between the gates.

When it fully opened, Jon braced himself, doubtful at the rider's appearance. The guards appeared before him, and Jon waited for the man to unhorse himself but he didn't. He had a cloak around him, too big that it almost swallowed him whole. The moonlight shone on his black garb, and his face was well hidden from view.

"Reveal yourself!" Davos yelled.

Jon felt a strange feeling in his gut when he saw Ghost calmly circle the rider without any hesitation. The wolf kept his eyes fixed on him, and in turn the rider looked no more frightened. He finally slipped down from the horse, barely making a sound.

Only then did he started realizing that the rider perhaps was actually a woman. He saw the hint of curves across her chest, but he was still not too sure.

She raised her hands, and the men took a step forward, earning to Jon's astonishment, a growl from Ghost.

"Ghost," Sansa whispered beside him, as much surprised as him. Ghost barely showed affection to anyone but him, even Sansa.

The rider finally revealed herself, her hands pushing the hood backwards and revealing her face, a pale, long one with hair just passing her shoulders. She looked strangely familiar, like something forgotten. Jon felt a tightness in his chest, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in Ghost's skin; suddenly being curious and at the same time nervous of the woman.

And that's when it happened.

Before anyone could react, two eyes blinked behind her and out of her shadow emerged a wolf as huge as Ghost, eyes golden and shining and haunting, and Jon realized just then what it all was. His legs were shaking under him, and he felt weak in his knees. He gulped loudly, and closed his eyes, picturing Ghost, the cold, winter, his home.

A sword and a girl.

He opened them when he heard Sansa's sharp intake of breath.

Every person around him shrank back, and Sansa gripped his arm in fear as another thousand eyes appeared around her. The woman smiled, and he recognized her instantly, cursing himself for not doing it earlier.

When she spoke, her voice sounded like the sweetest one he had ever heard, and at the same time the most frightening.

"Your Grace," she said, one hand around Ghost and the other around Nymeria. Jon took a few steps ahead, and their eyes were locked on each other, refusing to acknowledge anyone else around them. "Don't you remember me?"


	8. Daenerys I

Chapter VIII: The Taints Of The Past

Tyrion gulped the third glass of wine down, as Dany looked on in amusement. His hand reached for the jug again when she snatched it out of his reach.

"That's enough, Lord Hand," she said. "I want Tyrion Lannister to advise me, not Dornish wine."

Tyrion blinked at her, then raised the glass to her, taking the last sip and dropping it on the table. After straightening himself, Tyrion sat on his designated seat, completely focused on her. He looked far from being drunk. Perhaps even half a dozen glasses would fail to make him dizzy.

"And pray, what advice would you like to hear, My Queen?"

Dany stood up from her seat, and looked out into the sea, the water glistening in white, yellow hues. The sun would be setting soon, and they would be consumed by darkness again, albeit there were enough torches to put an entire city to fire on the ships. She was so close to her destination, and she could feel it inside her veins, running through her blood as hot as wildfire. The place her brother had wanted to rule would now be hers, the place where her Father was King once.

 _I will be better_ , she decided. _Much better, and saner._

"Have you received a reply from Jon Stark yet?" She asked, cocking her brow. A Stark had been the sole reason for the disappearance of her House. She would always detest how Lyanna Stark had trapped Rhaegar by her charms, and put Westeros into chaos.

 _But if she hadn't, I would have been but a princess, married to someone worse than my Drogo._

She flushed, guilty that she was not wishing the past was different. The past when every seed of her tragedy was sown.

"Snow, and not yet, Your Grace," he replied solemnly. "But I assure you, it will be much advantageous for us if we were to join hands with the Starks. The Starks are connected to the North, the Riverlands as well as the Vale. Jon Snow is wise. Let him take time."

"The same Starks who were once the friends of the Usurper/who took our rightful Throne for himself."

Tyrion looked grave.

"Half of their house is gone. The only ones left are King Jon and Lady Sansa. But while it may be so, the Northerners are fiercely loyal to their leader. A violent means will bring no calm to anyone. It will be better if Your Grace negotiates."

"And what shall I negotiate?" She asked, hearing the men shout on the deck above. "With House Tyrell and House Martell behind me, we have enough power to defeat the whole North and take it from the Starks."

"If you trust my judgement, Your Grace," Tyrion replied with a grim voice. "Know that Winterfell can never be anyone else's but the Starks'. Winter's blood flows through their veins, and only they are the true leaders of the North. Every one of your ancestors knew that, even your Father. Some things are meant to stay the same, or there arise grave consequences."

Daenerys threw him a sharp look, wanting to ask him on whose side he was, but she could feel the truth in his words herself. Torrhen Stark had bent his knee before Aegon the Conqueror, and while the Targaryens had been the monarchs of Westeros for hundreds of years, the North had always belonged to the Starks.

Dany was convinced she could overlook her enmity toward the Starks if need be, if it meant having peace in her kingdom. She would be a better Queen, a better person. Better than her grudges and her pride.

She turned to the Hand of the Queen, who sat with his fingers clasped together. He was nervously waiting for her opinion, and when Dany put on a smile, Tyrion looked conflicted.

"Then we shall go the North first," she declared. "Tell everyone. I will speak to King Jon myself, and I will hear his pleas. I have to let go of the past to build a better future."

Tyrion smiled, and Dany noticed it reached his eyes.

"To Winterfell then, Your Grace." He offered a small curtsey.

"To Winterfell," she whispered. Outside, the sun had dipped downwards on the horizon, and everything around her looked red and vermilion, like the fire her dragons breathed out.

 _I am the Queen_ , she thought.

 _Jon Snow rules the North, but he doesn't know who I am._

Any sane man would bend the knee and swear fealty to her, and Tyrion argued that Jon would do the same. She hoped it was true. North was a part of Westeros, and she didn't want to take it forcefully and be called no better than Robert Baratheon. If she has to wait till she reached Winterfell then so be it.

A/N: To be brutally honest, I am much more excited to write about the North and the Starks, but Dany had to be given some attention.

Also, I am finding it hard to concentrate on two stories at the same time, so I think I'm going to finish this one before updating Yours and Mine. This story is based on the show so I want to complete it by the time the next season airs. Don't worry, I have everything planned for Yours and Mine's next chapter, but I am having a hard time actually putting those ideas into work. I regret it, but I have no choice. Between school and studying, there is only so much I can manage to write. :')

Thank you for every favourite, follow and review. They mean a lot. xx


	9. Jon III

Chapter IX: The Haven

She stood in the snow surrounded by feral wolves baring their teeths, but Jon had never seen anyone look so calm. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, too short perhaps for him to muss it properly, but he pushed the thought aside for now. He took a tentative step towards her with nervous anticipation pooling in his gut. He was praying to the Gods this wasn't a jape. He wouldn't be able to take it if it was. The men stood transfixed in fear, and the night was uncharacteristically quiet, as if the very air had stopped moving around them.

He didn't know what stopped his guards from coming before him, but he couldn't appreciate it enough. When he was but an arm away from her, he looked at her properly, trying to recall the features of his little sister. He found nothing alike, except her eyes, grey and silver and glistening. He stood still, afraid of reaching out to her, afraid it was a dream, a figment of his imagination, and that it would disappear the moment he let himself believe it was real.

The corner of her lips were turned upwards in a smile, and she raised her hand up to touch his face, to place her fingers on his cheek with the gentlest of touches, and he closed his eyes. It was familiar and warm and he could swear to the Old Gods he had _never_ felt his heart beat this fast before.

"Arya," he breathed out, doubtful if the wind carried the words to her ears.

She smiled brightly, brighter than the fires in Winterfell's hearths. She had to tilt her head up to look at him properly, and he realized that she looked so different that if he hadn't seen the wolves with her or hadn't memorized her eyes all those years, he wouldn't have been able to recognise her at all. The thought angered and shamed him.

She straightened in surprise when Jon placed his hand around the back of her neck. He pulled her face to his and placed his forehead against hers.

"Tell me this is not a dream," he begged.

"Of course it's not," she whispered. She sighed and pulling back, turned around to face her pack, waiting patiently behind her. She nodded to them, and almost magically, the wolves started retreating. Only the two direwolves remained, now closely watching their masters. Arya turned to face Jon, and he saw the hint of moisture around the rim of her eyes, but no tears fell.

Sansa was sobbing by the time Jon told all of them who Arya was. He uttered the words in great difficulty. Something was not right. He remembered meeting Sansa a few moons ago, and their teary embrace. Sansa, who he had barely talked to during their childhood. He should have held Arya tighter, and kissed her head more passionately, but it hadn't happened. What had happened to the words he had wanted to say to her, the smiles he had wanted to give her? Why did Arya feel more like a stranger than Sansa?

He kept looking at her as Sansa led her inside the castle. The men had went back to their stations, though flustered by the appearance of the wolves.

"Where have you been?" Sansa asked her, as Arya plopped down on the ground near the hearth. Sansa's voice was still choked, and Jon sat down on the chair next to them. Arya took off her cloak and held her hands over the fire. The flames danced across her face, her eyes shining and looking lighter in color than the usual grey.

"Far away," she answered.

She looked at Jon and frowned. He smiled, and she seemed to relax a little.

"I've missed you," Sansa said. Jon tensed without realizing it. He stood up and Arya did as well.

"You should take some rest," he told her.

Sansa protested, but Arya nodded. She took the furs Sansa had ordered to be brought, and wrapped it around herself.

"I think that would be wise," she said.

Jon nodded and bade them a short goodnight, feeling her eyes on his back as he turned and started walking.

When he closed the door of his chambers behind him, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

But before he could take another step, the door was pushed again, and in the matter of a second, she was in his arms, burying her head into his neck. Jon gasped and held her tightly, the position being all to familiar from their childhood days, remembering the time they had parted and he had held her just like this. Suddenly, he felt her shaking, and the warm tingle of her tears on his neck.

"I've missed you," she said against his neck, and her voice no longer sounded composed, but like she was relieved and happy.

"I've missed you too, little wolf," he said lovingly, his own eyes filling with tears.

He held her like that for minutes, then she pulled away, and Jon pressed kisses on her face, not caring that he was kissing her tears.

Arya ran her hand through his hair, and let out a sob.

"I am sorry," she said, on the brink of crying again. "But I couldn't hold you like this in front of so many people. They don't..."

He knew what she meant.

 _They don't have the right._

He finally understood. Why she hadn't embraced him then, and why _he_ hadn't. Because it was too pure for anyone's eyes but theirs, that both their tears were for each other only.

When Arya pulled out a thin blade out of the furs, Jon laughed. She looked at him with a frown, but he kept laughing. He took her hand and pulled her towards his chest, _their_ Needle dropping from her hands as she wrapped her arms around him again.

"You kept it," Jon said, kissing her hair with fervour, his smile refusing to leave his lips.

 _She is here,_ he realized. _This isn't a dream. She is really back._

"Little sister," he whispered, finally feeling as if his family was whole again.

As if _he_ was whole again.

* * *

A/N: If you have any questions about this chapter, you can leave it in the review section or PM me, because I think the beginning of this chapter wasn't what most of you expected.

I'll update soon. 3


	10. Arya IV

Chapter X: The Lightning Strikes

The weather was biting her skin. Winterfell was colder than she remembered, and even the springs that warmed the walls of the castle gave her little respite from the harsh and unforgiving chill. Arya tucked her Needle carefully inside the furs, hiding the hilt. There were other daggers underneath as well, and she was sure she wouldn't need them, but being careful had never harmed her.

She received warm smiles from Jon and Sansa when she set foot in the room. Soon enough, however, Sansa's eyes roamed up and down her body, and her face lit up with mirth.

"Didn't I give you a dress?" She asked, as Arya took a seat beside her, directly in front of Jon. He shook his head at her, and continued drinking.

"Yes, dear Sansa, of course you did," Arya replied, amused.

"I don't think you're wearing a dress, though," she said, pointing at her attire.

Arya shrugged, and her eyes met Jon's.

"You know me. I will never do your dresses justice. I borrowed Jon's clothes instead."

Sansa sent a accusing glare his way, but Jon just raised his hands in defeat.

"I can't refuse her anything," he simply said.

Arya stifled a laugh. It felt good to be among family again. She had almost forgotten how it felt to share japes and laughs with her siblings. Once upon a time, _another_ Arya Stark used to run around the same castle, fleeing from Septa Mordane and plotting pranks for Sansa and Theon.

She knew that even if she tried her best, she would never be able to find that girl inside her. The girl was dead, as were her parents, Robb and Rickon. She was a different person now, fleeing from different things.

Plotting different things.

Arya heard the footsteps of the person even before he entered, a man in his mid-forties with white, grey hair. She remembered seeing him near Jon the other night.

"Your Grace," he bowed. "My Ladies."

"Lady," Arya corrected. "Ser-"

"Davos," Sansa told her.

"Lady, Ser Davos," she repeated. "Lady Sansa and just Arya. I would appreciate if you don't use titles with me."

Sansa nudged her leg with hers. Arya turned to her sharply, and raised her brow.

"I am afraid she isn't fond of them," Jon defended her, and bid Davos to sit.

Davos threw a affectionate smile her way, much like the smiles her Father used to give her. She managed her own, one that lacked warmth, but she knew how to imitate a mummer's smile perfectly, without anyone realizing whether it held real sentiment or not.

"Your Grace," Davos began, asking Jon with a questioning tone if it was alright to speak what he wanted to in front of her and Sansa.

Arya mouth curved when Jon nodded. It wouldn't matter even if they talked inside a locked room, if she wanted to know what it was, she _would_.

Davos took a deep breath, and Arya noticed him placing his gloved hands on the table.

"After Walder Frey's demise, Cersei Lannister has bid her brother Jaime to take over Riverrun. I believe he is already there, and he holds power over the Twins as well."

Arya clenched her fists. Cersei Lannister and her lapdog Jaime.

"I saw the Kingslayer leave for King's Landing before Walder Frey died," she said out loud.

All heads turned towards her.

"What do you mean you _saw_?" Jon asked.

Arya shrugged.

"It doesn't matter." She turned to Davos. "Are you sure he has reached Riverrun?"

Davos looked nervous. When he opened his mouth to reply, Jon stopped him with his hand on his arm.

" _What_ were you doing in the Twins, Arya?" He asked again, slowly pronouncing every word, like she hadn't heard his question in the first place.

She scowled.

"It doesn't matter, Jon," she said in the same tone, before turning back to Davos. But he kept silent.

Arya sighed loudly, unable to stop Jon from staring at her. She hadn't wanted to tell them about her viscous revenge, fearing what they would think of her. But they wouldn't let this go, and she couldn't say she just happened to be present at Walder Frey's dwelling.

A thousand lies formed inside her head, but only the truth came out of her lips, because she didn't _want_ to start lying to them so soon after being back.

"I was the one who killed Walder Frey," she confessed. "I killed his sons, and then I killed him." Her voice was steady and calm and smooth, and it flowed out of her mouth with no emotion. Killing Walder Frey had only brought satisfaction to her, but she couldn't very well laugh while she told them. So it's better they think she felt nothing.

Jon found his voice ages later, while the other two only kept staring at her with shock.

"You slit his throat?" He asked. He didn't look like he was feeling disgusted, rather that he was curious to know. "And were you the one who... His sons-"

"I carved them in a pie and served it to him. Then yes, _I_ slit his throat and watched as the life drained out of his eyes slowly and steadily." Without her realizing, a sly smile had etched itself on her face, and Arya didn't try to hide it.

She felt Sansa's hand on her shoulder and turned.

"He deserved it," Sansa said.

Arya was surprised, because she was _Sansa_. The Sansa who used to cry at the mere _thought_ of men dying a bloody death.

 _It's not just me that has changed,_ she realized, watching her sister's eyes burn with flames of emotion. She was remembering what Walder Frey had done to their family, she had no doubt.

The silence that stretched was too much for her to bear.

"Riverrun is our Mother's home," she began. "No Lannister deserves it." She looked at Jon and Davos.

"I want to take Riverrun for the Starks, and throw the Kingslayer out of it, once and for all," she added.

Davos cleared his throat, and looked to his right at Jon, who was staring at her with a hundred questions floating in his eyes.

"We have just won a battle, Arya. The men are not ready," he said. "The Lannisters have more men than us, and they would overpower us."

"And I have an army of wolves impatient to taste our enemies' blood," Arya said.

"Most of the men are wounded," Sansa spoke. "They cannot fight. I've seen. It will take a couple of months, perhaps more, for everyone to heal and be ready for another battle, even the Wildlings."

"My wolves are enough for them," Arya insisted. "Jaime Lannister cannot be near the North. He needs to be imprisoned or else, killed."

She was being blunt, but she had no other choice. She had killed Walder Frey in the hopes of freeing Riverrun from his filthy hands, but it had led to a Lannister ruling it. She had avenged the death of Robb and her mother, but to bring peace to them, she had to drive their enemies away from the Tully's home. She wouldn't have believed herself to be capable of it before, but now she had a pack.

 _A pack who will devour lions with ease._

 _They are thirsty for blood as much as I am craving for vengeance._

"I cannot, Arya," Jon said, shaking his head. "We do not have enough men."

She stood up bracing her palms on the table.

"Then don't," she said, challenging him. "I can do it alone."

Jon's eyes hardened.

"You cannot, and _will_ not. I will not let you run to battle."

"I will," she replied, defiantly. "If you won't give me men, I'll do it with my wolves. Nymeria wants to, even Ghost. You know it."

"The Knights of the Vale could help," Sansa interrupted. She ignored the look Jon sent her way. "They will fight."

"You will _not_ trust Littlefinger again," Jon warned Sansa.

"Can you promise me they will?" Arya asked, ignoring Jon's comment.

Sansa nodded.

"I will never allow it," Jon said.

"I wasn't asking for your permission," Arya shot back instantly.

"I am your _King_ ," he said, his voice rough. He stood up as well, and gathered his cloak around himself. "You will ride to no battle. We will take Riverrun when it's time. Ser Davos, if you will follow me."

The two men left, as Arya was left behind with anger running through her veins. Sansa held her hand gently.

"Men know more about these things, Arya," she said. "Let Jon do as he wishes."

Arya said nothing.


	11. Jon IV

Chapter XI: The Only Option

His guilt kept him from concentrating on anything at all, and he had to dismiss Davos shortly after. He had told him about Tyrion Lannister's raven, and told him to gather the Lords within the week for a meeting, and Davos had complied, but not before advising him to think clearly about the matter.

"She is a Southern Queen, Your Grace," he had said. "We have Wildlings in the North now. And Southerners don't harbour any goodwill towards Wildlings. Don't make your decision just yet. Talk to Tormund, your family."

Sansa was against him, but she hadn't raised any voice yet, and Arya... He had no doubt Arya wouldn't hesitate to raise her voice if she truly opposed his decision, and he hoped that she wouldn't. They were walking on a thin wire already, he didn't want to make the situation worse.

He was thinking of apologizing. He knew he shouldn't have used his _King_ voice, especially not in front of her, but Arya had left him little choice. He couldn't let her go and attack a castle, much less a castle taken by Jaime Lannister. He was an apt Knight, even without his arm, and as much bravery Arya possessed, she would never be able to come out of Riverrun alive.

 _She killed Walder Frey though,_ another voice inside his head said, _and no one learned a thing._

It would be wrong to say he wasn't a killer himself, but the thought of Arya murdering someone felt alien and unbelievable. He remembered what he had seen in her eyes when she talked of her killing. Triumph? _Pleasure?_ Her eyes had burned with vengeance, and he knew she wasn't wrong. The Freys, the Lannisters, they had killed their family, in the most brutal ways possible. But Arya was still a little girl to him, full of innocence.

 _Does she live only for revenge now?_ He wondered. _Did she come back here for her family or only for the sake of retaliation?_

But it was wrong of him to think that, because he felt like he barely knew her at all. He didn't know where she'd been, or what she'd been up to. He didn't know how she had survived in a world full of monsters, what had happened to her that she'd have to start killing people. And through all of it, it was the bitter agony that pooled in his heart that he should've been there for her. He should have showed her the way, should've guided her, helped her to keep his little sister inside of her alive.

 _We should never have left Winterfell._

Sansa's words had never rang truer in his ears.

He was slowly losing calm, and starting to panic. The men rushed about heeding his orders, but Jon had a voice inside of him saying that it wouldn't work.

The stableboy ran to him, barely catching his breath.

"One horse is missing, Your Grace."

Jon clenched his fists.

 _Stubborn girl._

For another half an hour they searched, but there wasn't any sign of her. He finally asked them to stop, realizing it would be of no use.

His heart was beating inside its cage mercilessly.

 _I cannot lose her. I cannot lose her._

He hurried to his chambers and shut the door behind him. The windows were open and in another time he would've cared about the cold and closed them, but the only thing in his mind right now was that Arya was gone. He had just got her back and she had ran off.

 _She should have let me make her understand_ , he thought.

She would running to her death.

But she had her pack, and Nymeria would keep her safe.

Jon closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life, tried to intentionally skin-change into Ghost. He knew Ghost would be with Nymeria, and even if he wasn't, Ghost could find them through their scent.

It wasn't working, and Jon was getting frustrated. He had never slipped inside his wolf while wide awake, and he didn't know _how_ to, but he had to try. For the sake of him and her.

But five minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty, without Jon accomplishing his task. The moon peeked through the clouds, and in a distance he heard the caws of crows seated on the branches of the tree in front of his window, and the sounds irked him more, making him restless and more worried.

"Jon?" The voice outside his door made him turn his head around sharply, and open it quickly. Sansa looked at him worriedly and took one step ahead.

"Are you-"

"Will the Knights of the Vale follow her?" He asked, interrupting her.

Sansa narrowed her eyes, then took a deep breath.

"Yes, if she wishes so. But she told me she will send word if she needs them to."

"How could you do this?" He roared, shaking her by the shoulders. "How could you let your own sister run to her doom?"

"She doesn't run, Jon," Sansa said, determinedly. "She _rides_. Our sister is not a novice. She knows what she is doing, and I trust her. Why won't you trust her as well?"

"Because she is just a girl!" He yelled, fisting his hair so hard by the roots that all of his nerve endings were jolted awake.

"I have to go to her," he whispered. "I will gather every man I have, and I will go. I need to be with her."

"No." Sansa stopped him by his arm. "She told me no one is to disturb her plans."

Jon shot her a sharp look.

"Please, Jon. She is not alone. She has friends." Jon's cocked up his eyebrow. Sansa held her chin up. "And a pack of wolves, with Ghost and Nymeria at the head. If she needs men, she will tell us, but until then, let her do as she wishes. You know I will never put her life in danger intentionally."

 _Are you so blinded by revenge_ , he wanted to ask her. _That you would willingly risk her life?_

Jon shook the boy awake, and he woke up in a frenzy, wiping the drool off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Two horses, _now_ ," he ordered, and the boy bowed, hurrying to do as his King asked.

"You sure about this, King Crow?" Tormund asked from beside him. The Wilding and Davos were the only ones he told, the only ones who he knew would understand. Davos knew the worth of family, while Tormund was a trusted friend.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. There was no question about him following her. He would do it every time.

"Well, then," Tormund patted his back. "Let's get that Wildling sister of yours back."

"She isn't a Wildling," he heard himself say. He watched the stableboy saddle the second horse.

Tormund guffawed.

"Aye, mayhaps not. Never seen a Wildling lead a pack of wolves before, nor go into battle alone. Aye, Jon Snow, she's _worse_."

The horses were brought, and both of them mounted them. The stableboy managed a clumsy bow and backed away. Jon turned to Tormund, who looked different with a cloak around him. His skins were forgotten, as they would be no use in Riverrun and would only warm him up. He wore furs and leathers, and looked almost like a Northerner, if not for his burgundy hair.

Jon prayed to the Old Gods, that they keep her safe until they reached her.

 _Stubborn girl_ , he thought. _Don't do anything stupid just yet._

They pulled the reins and rode off.


	12. Arya V

Chapter XII: The Retaking

Arya played her part. She acted like a common kitchen maid, rushing about and cleaning things and taking orders. Her face was her own, pale and long, and she hadn't bothered to wear another.

 _They wouldn't recognize me,_ she thought. _Not here._

Since the hours she had been inside the castle, not once had she came across Jaime Lannister. Time, however, was a luxury that was slipping away from her hands quickly, and as she saw the sky outside lose their vibrancy, she knew she had to rush. Night would fall soon, and if she did not complete the task at hand till then, she would have to wait another day.

She knew that by then Jon would've known. He would have realized she was gone, and if he was still the same Jon she knew and if her instincts spoke true, he would try to find her. She wouldn't allow anyone to jeopardise her plans, not even Jon, and if any news of disturbance in the North even reached Riverrun, she would lose the advantage of surprise. It would not do for an entire Lannister army to stay on their guard.

 _My wolves are strong and they will slaughter, but men are men._

She dropped the rag on the basin, and turned, when the cook handed her a tray filled with hard bread and honey.

"Get on with it now, girl!" she told her. "Take it to the cells."

"This food to the cells, ma'am?" Arya asked, looking at the big chunks of bread.

 _Since when have prisoners been given such good food?_

The woman narrowed her eyes and slapped Arya lightly on the cheek.

"Aye, girl, did ya not hear me? To the cells, aye. Milord Lannister asked for the men to be given good food, cause our Milord-" the woman stopped, and bit her tongue, thwacking Arya on the cheek again. "Go on now! Enough of your questions! Out. Go!"

Arya nodded and ran outside. The castle didn't have many men around, and only the guards could be seen in the corridors. Obviously, Jaime Lannister hadn't brought the whole army to Riverrun.

 _The less, the better._

The first two cells were empty. A man was crouching inside the third one, and be mumbled incoherently when Arya handed him a piece of bread. He ravished it immediately, and feeling sorry for his state, she handed him another.

"On to the next, quick!" The guard called, and she nodded. She reached the fifth cell, and called out gently to the prisoner. The man was stuck to the far end wall, his face well hidden from view. Arya kneeled on one knee to look properly, and she only saw him lowering his eyes on the floor. His clothes were torn, and his face covered in hair.

"Milord?" She called in a sweet voice. "Don't you want to eat?"

"Go away," he mumbled, loudly enough for her ears to catch. Arya frowned.

 _Have I heard that voice before?_

She looked sideways at the guard who was now not looking at her, but instead standing near the entrance.

She moved closer, dragging her knees, and called out again. This time, the response was more aggressive, and spontaneous.

"I don't want it!" He shouted. Arya shrank back in shock at finally watching his face.

"Uncle?" She whispered, but he hadn't heard. Arya stood up in an instant.

 _Uncle Edmure is alive._

She rushed to the guard, and clutched his arm with her hands. He turned to her in annoyance.

"Ser, good Ser. The man there." She pointed to Edmure's cell. "He shouted at me, and lunged at me. Help, Ser. Please, you must help me give him his food or else the cook will skin me alive. Please, gentle Ser. I'm so afraid of his face!"

"Go and do your own job!" The guard snatched his arm away but she clasped it again.

"Please, Ser. It's only one man. I'll give the food to the rest. But he frightens me so!"

The guard huffed and took the tray from her hands roughly. Arya smirked as he turned away from her and went to the cell, crouching down before it.

She wasted no time in taking the flask out of her pocket, and holding one palm across his mouth, opened it forcefully and emptied the liquid into his mouth. The man grabbed behind him, but it took only seconds for the potion to take effect, and then he was numb and fell down on the floor, eyes closed and fingers clutching at his throat.

Arya searched through his pockets, quickly taking the keys. She pushed his heavy body aside, and placed her hand over the bars of the cells.

"Uncle?" She called, but he had turned away from her, sitting cross-legged against the wall.

"Uncle Edmure." Arya raised her voice, and he looked up. He crawled closer to her, then looked at her carefully when she pushed the key inside and turned it. The gate made a squeak and opened.

Arya reached out her hand to touch his own.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Your niece," she said, smiling. "Arya."

His eyes widened and he tried to stand up holding onto the wall.

"Underfoot?" He asked, bewildered.

"The very same," Arya said as she used the keys to unchain his hands and feet, and Edmure stood up straight.

"But how?" He looked at the body on the floor.

"We will have time for that later, Uncle. First, I need you to tell me if there are people inside this castle we can trust."

"Can we not wait for the King in the North?"

Arya sighed.

"Your King is not coming," she told them, trying not to sound annoying.

The men looked hesitant. They were finding it hard to believe that she had a pack of _wolves_ behind her, and the very thought of attacking the Lannister men without an actual army seemed to be a jape for them.

She had recognized Lord Mallister and Bracken; the others she didn't know. But Edmure had told her they were loyal to the Tully name and the King in the North, and for now she had to believe that. Moreover, she didn't find any lies coming out of their tongues, and she trusted in her instincts well enough.

"If we keep wasting time and do not make a decision soon, they'll find out Uncle isn't in his cell and the very moment those men brace themselves, we're lost," she said.

"Then we do as you say," one of the Lords said. "I stood behind a Stark once, I'll do so again. And I will gladly give my life if need be for driving the Kingslayer out of here." He looked at her, eyes and voice determined. "Arya Stark, what will you have me do?"

It took two minutes for chaos to descend.

The wolves growled with ferocity, and moved across the lowered drawbridge with lightning speed.

"For House Tully and the Blackfish!" The men roared, and drew their swords. Arya hadn't brought Needle, but she wouldn't need it. She took her daggers and went out to look as her pack, led by Ghost and Nymeria, stormed the castle. Behind them were Beric, Sandor and Gendry, mounted and armed.

"For my mother," she whispered.

Lannister men in gold and red rushed outside in hurry. Steel clashed against steel as the entire castle was woken up in an uproar. Edmure had been locked inside a room with guards, for the fear of Jaime Lannister getting his hands on him. They would lose instantly if they managed to capture Edmure.

Arya had an advantage in all of it. She was a woman, and the men kept out of her way. Only when she thrust her dagger into a soldier's gut and twisted it, did they start to pay attention to her, and she was being attacked by two men at once.

Arya threw the dagger in her hand directly at the man, and it hit him on the neck, blood spluttering out of his throat as he fell down on the ground. She reached for another one on her hip, but the other man was too fast, and she was just within his reach...

A sword came out of his torso and he fell down lifelessly. Behind him, Gendry threw a chiding look at her.

"I told you battle was not for you, Milady."

"Shut up, stupid."

He winked.

"Don't worry. I got your back."

He wasn't wrong, though. Stealth was her weapon, and she had never fought against men with swords.

 _But there is no going back now_ , she thought, as she dodged a big, brown man that stood at least two feet above her. She moved around him, and jumped on him, plunging her blade into his back twice, thrice, right through the mail, piercing it, before he was knocked down.

She looked around panting, blood oozing out of the cuts on her arms and cheek and shoulders.

 _We are winning,_ she thought, and looked at Ghost, eyes bloodshot, and suddenly in the direwolf's eyes, she saw a familiarity, and his eyes were his no more, but someone else's.

 _He has the gift_ , _too_ , she realized suddenly, watching the shadow of her brother pass over the wolf's eyes. But Ghost leapt away for another kill, and Arya wasn't able to think on the matter for long. Her attention was diverted to a soldier behind Gendry, ready to strike.

 _We're even now, you bull,_ she thought as she sprang into a run.

The blood was shed, and lives were lost.

 _But it had to be done,_ she told herself, although the sight managed to shake her a little.

Every last Lannister man was slaughtered or imprisoned, and Riverrun was free again. But their Lord was still missing.

Arya looked at the aftermath of the carnage: bodies teared open by teeth and swords and covered in blood. Her wolves didn't feed, only killed, but still some bodies were ravaged from limb to limb, unrecognisable. Dozens of her pack had also perished, swords thrust through their bodies and backs ripped open. She had known since the beginning it was inevitable. Nymeria had known it all along as well, but looking into the wolf's eyes, Arya realized it wasn't so easy for her to accept that, even if she knew it was bound to happen. Arya knew what it felt like to lose part of her pack.

"Valar Morghulis," she whispered, softly. The prayer was to a God she had left behind in the House of Black and White, whose services she had resigned from.

But she knew better than anyone how much truth the two words held.

"Princess."

She turned around to look at the Lords Mallister and Bracken, and behind them stood the Hound, Beric and Gendry, and men loyal to the Tully name. They were exhausted, but their chests were swelled with the joy of victory. Clegane's face was covered in blood, but he looked pleased, almost thankful that he had gotten a chance to kill. Beric stood stoic and composed, as he always was, and she saw in his eyes he didn't appreciate one bit of it, but he had done it because it had to be done.

Gendry was the only one whose eyes told a different story. He looked at her like he was worried for _her_ , and not for himself. She had found the Brotherhood with Nymeria's help, not far from where she had left them. Beric hadn't wasted a minute in following her, and Gendry was too glad to see her that he wouldn't say no to her. Sandor had been the hardest to convince, but after she told them it was Lannister men she was fighting, he was more than willing.

The bloody dagger was still in her hands and she dropped it on the floor with a clank, feeling warm liquid drip down her fingers. Her hands ached, and her legs, and her entire body, but she didn't care.

"Jaime Lannister?" She asked aloud.

Lord Bracken shook his head.

"He's gone. Ser Bronn of Blackwater died saving him."

Arya clenched her fists.

 _He has escaped. Again. I made a mistake._

Between fighting and killing, she had not even bothered to search for him.

 _I thought he wouldn't flee leaving his men to die._

She cursed herself for thinking a Lannister capable of honor.

"Ghost!" A voice rang through the silence. Everyone turned, and Arya heard the hushed voices and gasps.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, eyes angry and hard staring at her.

"You're too late, King Crow," she heard the man beside her brother say, throwing her a smug smile.

"I guess I am," Jon replied and slowly walked towards her, the men making way for him. He had drawn his sword, but it was back in it's scabbard in seconds.

"I've won," she told him, when he was close enough to touch, trying her best to stay calm. She didn't know why she felt afraid of him, of the way he looked at her.

"So I see," he said, taking her hand and rubbing the blood at her wrist with his thumb. Jon was _so_ angry with her, she knew that without him betraying himself by his words. But there was also fear in his eyes, a fear she was much familiar with.

The fear of losing someone of her pack.

Of her blood.

Arya heard the sound of swords being drawn, and in moments everyone was on one knee. Even Sandor, after a bit of hesitation.

She looked back at Jon, and he was still staring at her, like he was trying to read her.

 _I can teach him that if he wants_ , she thought, smiling inwardly.

"Riverrun is yours, Princess, Your Grace," Lord Mallister said. They laid their swords before her and Jon.

"The King in the North!" Everyone chanted.

Jon squeezed her hand tightly, and she would have winced if she was not so used to pain.

"Princess," he whispered near her ear.

Arya shivered.


	13. Jon V

Chapter XIII: The Heir

She looked almost ladylike, with head held high and eyes straight and fierce. She didn't have to wear a dress, and she wasn't. She intimated everyone even with her ragged breeches and loose tunic. There was a roughness about her, a Northern air, and Jon guessed the men appreciated her more so for it. She was a warrior who had won them back their freedom and their land, and a Lady wouldn't have been able to do that.

Her eyes met his across the room, and Arya frowned.

Jon looked away.

"She has done the right thing, you know," he heard Tormund say. "Even if it wasn't to your liking."

It had been a good decision to make Tormund wear Northern clothes. They hadn't pretended to hide he was a Wildling, but it wasn't too obvious, which surely helped. A few men had been suspicious, but all it took was a stern look from Arya for them not to linger on the subject.

Jon realized then that Arya would always have Riverrun in her grasp, although it was he who was the King.

"That's it," he said, replying to Tormund, keeping himself from looking at her. "I know she had her reasons, but running off like that is-"

The anger came back. He remembered the blood on her; some gashes on her skin so deep that they would take weeks to heal.

"And her companions," he added. "The Hound? He's a bloody Lannister dog. What the fuck's he doing with her? And what if he had turned on her. I have tasted enough betrayal, and the last thing I want is for her to end up with daggers in her back."

The very thought of anything like that happening to her made his blood run cold.

"You worry too much, King Crow." Tormund looked her way, and Jon saw admiration in his eyes, and awe. "I don't know what your sister was like. I don't know nothing about who she is now. But the woman sitting there... Believe me, Jon, she is no helpless maiden to be locked up in a tower."

"I wouldn't lock her up," Jon said, watching as the Lords seated themselves.

Tormund laughed, and Jon thanked the Gods it wasn't too loud.

"Your face says it all. You would take her to a tower the moment you get a chance. Only the Gods know what she'll do to you after that, though."

Edmure was in front of him now, looking every bit of a Lord, and bowed respectfully. Jon didn't remember Edmure ever being fond of him when he was younger, and wondered if it was because of anything else but his Crown.

"Are your wife and child well, My Lord?" Jon asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," he said. "They are in need of care, but they will be in good health in no time." He turned to the men.

"My niece has given us this castle back, even after all hope was lost," he said loudly, and Arya looked surprised. The men stopped talking. "I know I am your Lord, but I have failed you once, while she has given us freedom. If Princess Arya agrees, Riverrun is hers, today and always, and I will gladly offer her my position as the Lord Paramount of the Trident."

Jon's eyes widened, and to his shock, nobody looked taken aback except him and Arya.

 _They have decided it unanimously._

They all wanted Arya as the Lady of Riverrun.

"I refuse." He heard her voice, cutting through the silence. "It is your right, Uncle Edmure. I will not take it from you. Besides, I didn't fight the Lannisters for this, I fought them because I'm a Stark and a Tully. I have no desire for this seat. It is yours."

"I have failed-" Edmure began, but Arya cut him off with a gesture of her hand.

"You will not repeat your mistakes. I know. Family comes before duty and honor for a Tully, and you did what you did for your wife and child." She looked at the Lords. "I understand you have your reasons, but you must trust my judgement on this. Lord Tully will always be the better choice. I will fight for you if need be, but I am not one to sit and look over a castle, and I am unwilling to stay away from Winterfell."

"You would have to look over the entire North if circumstances arise, Princess," Edmure said.

"What do you mean?" Jon heard himself say.

Edmure took a deep breath, and looked between him and Arya.

"I do not believe you know of this, but King Robb wrote a will before he died, Your Grace. You were to succeed him as the King in the North, and if you weren't able, Princess Arya would've sat as the Queen."

Jon guessed Arya's reaction even before he turned around to look at her and confirm it. Arya was walking towards them, steps steady.

"Sansa is the older one," she said, confused.

"Yes," Edmure agreed. "But your sister isn't really a Stark now. By that time she had married Tyrion Lannister, and in fear of a Lannister taking Winterfell for himself, King Robb excluded her from his will. You would have been next in line, but you had disappeared, and many had taken you for dead. So King Jon was put first, then you, and then your brothers Bran and Rickon."

 _Sansa wouldn't like that,_ Jon immediately thought, but brushed it off his mind.

He looked at Arya and imagined her as a Queen, sitting on a throne with a crown on her head. A Queen as harsh as Winter itself. It was a strange sight, but not an unpleasant one.

"Nothing will ever happen to Jon for it to come to that," she said.

"Riverrun is yours, Lord Edmure," Jon said, speaking for the first time on the matter. "I do not think my sister wants it. And let us not allow the past to affect our actions now."

When Lord Tully turned to talk to his men after a lot of silent speculation on his part, the siblings turned away, and Jon saw Arya breathe out in relief.

The weather was livelier in the South: blue skies and breezes and the warmth everyone so desperately craved for in the North.

The horses were saddled and ready to be mounted. There was no reason for staying longer in Riverrun, and by the morning, they were ready to leave for Winterfell.

"I am still waiting for that scolding, you know," Arya said to him, while the drawbridge was being lowered. Jon turned around and saw the men that would accompany them.

"You're bringing Sandor Clegane to Winterfell?" He asked.

"He's a changed man now," Arya said and shrugged. She looked over her shoulder as well. "He's not too much fond of me, but he has my trust."

"I don't know about mine," Jon confessed.

"Sansa trusts him too," she said nonchalantly. "He helped her, I think."

Jon found it hard to believe Sansa would even talk to a man like Sandor Clegane, but if Arya believed so, it might be true.

"And the rest?" He asked.

"Thoros and Beric. Thoros is a Priest of the Red God. Beric was the Lord of Blackhaven. Father knew him, and trusted him. That is enough for me."

The mention of Ned Stark bombarded his mind with memories.

"And the one with the dark hair?"

"He's a friend."

"And knighted?" He asked, as the thud of the lowered drawbridge could be heard.

"Yes, by Beric," she replied. She mounted her horse and the beast neighed almost wildly. Arya tried to calm her mare with a palm over the face.

"They sense the wolves," she whispered, then as if stopping herself at the last minute from blurting something else out, turned around.

"What is it?" Jon asked. Everyone was ready to leave and he saw Tormund approaching him.

She shook her head.

"Now's not the time," she said, and nodding one last time to her uncle, took off. Jon followed, then Tormund and then the Brotherhood.

He heard the creak of the bridge again behind him, but his eyes were ahead.

Perhaps Arya wasn't wrong.

They had entered the gates of Winterfell and the first thing he had seen was Sansa standing with Ser Davos and Lady Brienne. She didn't look very pleased, and when she seemed to catch the image of the men behind her siblings, she almost took a step back in shock.

Jon had a hard time understanding the look Sansa gave the Hound. She recognized him: that was evident, but he didn't see the indifference he was hoping to see. Clegane only received her stare, devastatingly contrasting in emotion to the one the Lady of Tarth was giving him. Brienne had her hand on her sword, practised fingers gripping the hilt, ready to strike any moment she was allowed to.

"Your Grace," Ser Davos said, "I did not know you'd bring company."

Sandor Clegane was receiving a lot of deathly glares from every corner. Jon decided not to let the fire rise

"They are Arya's companions." He ignored her snort. "They will stay here now?"

"Everyone?" Sansa asked, finally taking her eyes off Sandor.

"Yes," he said.

Sansa nodded, then turned to Arya who was at Jon's side.

"You didn't send for the Knights of the Vale."

Arya narrowed her eyes.

"I said I would if I _needed_ them. I didn't."

"You did it all alone then," Sansa said. "I guess it made it easier?"

"I don't-"

"I think we should speak of this inside," Jon said, interrupting them, sensing the inevitability of a quarrel if he didn't interrupt.

Sansa nodded and turned around to walk back. Arya also went away from his side and he found himself beside Davos.

"Are you willing to give the particulars, Your Grace?" He asked.

Jon looked at Arya. She was talking to the dark-haired man. He was shivering, and he whispered something in her ear and Arya elbowed him in the stomach, making him laugh.

"It was all her," Jon said. "Riverrun is ours. More precisely hers, now. They wanted her to become the Lady Paramount. She refused saying she wanted to stay here."

"Your sister is a brave girl, Your Grace," the man said, smiling fondly.

"Yes, I know she is. And mayhaps that is what scares me."

She wasn't someone to back away from a fight, and it would lead to her being at the front in dangerous situations. Situations he didn't want her to be a part of.

"A raven arrived at dawn, Your Grace. It was addressed specifically to you with a-" he hesitated, "a Targaryen sigil."

Jon sucked in a breath.

"Have you read it?" He asked.

"No." Davos reached inside his cloak, and handed the small scroll to him. Jon opened it tentatively. He had not written back to Tyrion Lannister, and he had not expected him to write again within such a short period of time, and definitely not the Targaryen woman herself.

"They are coming," he breathed out softly.

"Who?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister. They are all coming here to Winterfell. They want to settle a truce."

He crushed the paper in his hands.

"What is it?" He heard Arya's voice and turned to find her brows furrowed together in curiosity, and her gaze alternating between him and Davos.

"Arya," he said, watching as she waited impatiently for his answer. He would have to tell her at some point, and there wasn't any way to avoid it.

He only hoped she wouldn't react rashly. The very thought of telling Arya Stark that he had been thinking of bending the knee to someone when she had just given him Riverrun was enough to make him nervous.

 _I cannot expect her to do anything other than be against it,_ he thought. _But I have to tell her of the dangers that lurk beyond the Wall._

He exhaled.

"There is something you need to know."


	14. Sansa I

Chapter XIV: The Little Dove

She walked towards the Hall with Brienne following her. The Lady of Tarth was unwilling to leave her side after the unexpected arrival of the Hound, and it seemed that Brienne held a grudge of her own against the man, other than that she wanted to protect Sansa.

Sandor kept out of her way, but nevertheless she had felt his eyes on her a few times their paths had coincidentally crossed. She wondered what it'd have been like if she'd have went away with him that night during the Battle of the Blackwater. She wouldn't have been married to Ramsay, and perhaps he could have kept her safer than anyone else could.

He used to call her Little Bird.

 _But I can no longer fly even if I wanted to._

The Lords bowed when she entered, and she looked up and saw Jon already seated, with Arya to his right. Arya's face revealed nothing, and it was hard to guess what her reaction must have been like when the news of Daenerys Targaryens had reached her ears.

Sansa hadn't spoken with her since she had returned. She wasn't angry with Arya, but she had wanted her to take her help. Jon had told her of his distrust of Littlefinger, and she had heard his unspoken words that he was somewhat distrustful of her as well after what she'd done. By helping Arya take Riverrun, she'd wanted to gain Jon's trust back, and maybe redeem herself in her own eyes. But Arya had unknowingly snatched the opportunity away from her hands. She was proud of her sister, and she was happy that she had been so brave, but Sansa knew that Jon had always had a special place for Arya in his heart, and that she could never do anything that would take her down in his eyes. She wanted Jon to look at her in a similar, if not the same, way. She wanted his trust back, and she wanted him not to remember her lie everytime he looked at her. Helping Arya recapture their mother's home would have done that and more, and yet, she had been forced to realise her sister didn't need her as much as she had thought.

Jon held out his hand for her and she took it, sitting to his left. Arya smiled gently at her. It looked forced but Sansa smiled back, not wanting anyone present to think that they were having problems among themselves.

Ser Davos cleared his throat.

Jon pushed his chair back and stood up, and every voice was shushed.

"Thank you for coming here in such a short notice, My Lords and My Lady." He nodded towards Lyanna Mormont. "There is a very important announcement I have to make. More than a week ago, I received a raven from Tyrion Lannister." There was a brief uproar but one shout from Lyanna Mormont silenced them again. Sansa decided she had never appreciated the girl as much as she deserved.

Jon muttered a small thank you to her and continued,

"He sails across the Narrow Sea with a Targaryen heir Daenerys, who is the daughter of King Aerys and the sister of Princes Rhaegar and Viserys. She is now the widow of a Khal, and has a Dothraki and an Unsullied army following her, and the Houses Tyrell, Martell and Greyjoy. She sails to claim the Iron Throne for her own, and she has asked that I kneel before her."

Angry shouts could be heard, and the group of men yelled murderous curses in fury.

"The King in the North doesn't fear a Southron!"

"The North is ours!"

"Let her come and try to take it!"

Sansa looked worriedly at Jon and just when he looked like he was about to raise his voice, it was Arya who banged her fist hard on the table, and everyone turned to look at her.

"Enough!" She shouted, and set her stone-colored eyes on Jon before looking away. "It was only yesterday that I found out about what is happening on the other side of the Wall. My brother told me of the dead that are rising from the graves. Daenerys Targaryen claims she has dragons, and my brother thinks that these dragons will be the key to our survival. I trust every word of his and if he says these dragons can help us then they can." Her jaw clenched. "But as a Stark, I will not let him kneel before a foreign Queen. Winterfell is ours. We have taken it from our enemies, and we are the only one who get to keep it. The legacy of a free North didn't die with Robb. Let her come and try to make Jon kneel. She will know the wrath of a Stark."

Sansa stayed frozen to her place as the Lords praised Arya loudly, chanting Stark over and over again. Beside her, Jon was looking furious and his hands were clenching the wood of the table so hard he would bruise them.

"What have you done?" He asked Arya, fuming.

"What is _right_ ," she replied. "I love you Jon, but forgive me, I cannot do this. This is an insult to Father's memory, and Mother's and Robb's. Tell me one reason why we should trust a Targaryen, Tyrell, Martell or a Greyjoy. A Lannister is even out of the question. I will not let you kneel before her, not if it costs me my life."

Sansa placed a hand over Jon's.

"She is not our enemy," she said aloud, capturing the attention of the men. "When she comes to Winterfell, we will not receive her as such. She will be welcomed and her company fed. She would come in peace, and we will let her stay in peace."

"How do we know she is not here to attack?" One of the Lords asked.

"Because she will not dare to. She would be smarter than that," Sansa replied.

"And if she is not?" Lady Mormont asked with a biting tone.

"Then believe me, Lady Mormont," Arya said before she could. "She wouldn't live long enough to even _glance_ at the Iron Throne she craves for so desperately."

The coldness in her voice managed to cut off any further questions, and Sansa saw Lyanna Mormont grin.

She felt the tension when the three of them were alone, gathered near the fireplace.

Sansa tried to start the conversation, because she knew very well the other two wouldn't. Jon and Arya were even refusing to look at each other.

"Who will accompany the Dragon Queen?" She asked Jon. "We do not have enough provisions for a large number."

"Tyrion Lannister and her army of Unsullied. The rest will remain at Highgarden with Lady Olenna."

The mention of Highgarden almost brought tears to her eyes. Margaery had been her only true friend in the capital, almost like a sister. And Cersei had killed her, and her brother Loras whom Sansa had once admired. Margaery had been so kind to her, and had saved her from marrying Joffrey. And after Tommen had become King, maybe there was a chance for Margaery to be truly happy. But Cersei had always despised anyone who tried to take the Throne, and she had killed her own good daughter, and burned a Sept that had been constructed decades before her birth, a place that held legacies.

 _And yet it took only wildfire, to burn legacies to the ground. And a mad woman who wanted to be Queen._

"So now we'll have to entertain Lannisters in Winterfell?" Arya asked sarcastically. "An imp at that?"

"What do _you_ propose we do then?" Jon asked, his voice rising.

Arya pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Don't you dare speak to me in that way, Jon. I am not the one who is having trouble remembering here. Have you forgotten that a Targaryen killed our uncle and grandfather, and another one raped our aunt? And since when are Tyrells and Martells and Greyjoys our allies? Have you forgotten what Theon did to Robb? And don't even get me started on the Lannisters. The imp killed his own father, and you want me to smile at him and offer curtseys?"

"Theon might be guilty of betraying Robb," Sansa defended him. "But trust my words, he has suffered for that and more. And if it wasn't for him, I would still have been under Ramsay's mercy. He has paid. Believe me."

Arya was staring at her intently, then she surprisingly dropped the subject. Sansa thought of defending Tyrion too, and Lady Olenna, but she kept her mouth shut fearing she'd say too much. The two families were Stark enemies as far as anyone was concerned, and perhaps it would do good to let Jon and Arya be the judge of Tyrion's character. She knew Jon wasn't repulsed by him, but Arya seemed to cringe at the very mention of the word Lannister. She couldn't blame her, but Tyrion was different. He always had been. And even though he had committed the gravest crime by kinslaying, Sansa knew he must have had his reasons. Tyrion Lannister was many things, but never unreasonable.

"You have not seen the monsters I've seen Arya. If there is a way to defeat them, why wouldn't you let me follow it?" Jon asked.

"What does this Daenerys know of the North? What does she know of winter? Starks and Mormonts and Glovers and Karstarks, we have been here since before any of her kin set foot on Westeros. Winterfell is yours, Jon. _You_ deserve it, and not her. I am only doing this for you." She paused for a second. "Don't you remember what happened the last time a Southron King came to Winterfell? It's not my fault if I fear for you."

 _It ripped apart our family,_ Sansa thought. _It destroyed our happiness._

"She is coming anyway," Jon said. "Promise me you will not do anything rash, Arya. I will not kneel if you don't want me to, I swear it. But we have to find a solution, and it cannot be found if she thinks we do not respect her. Not every battle is won by anger, little sister."

Arya stood up, and lowered her eyes to look at him.

"I will not promise, but I will try my best."

She placed her hand on Jon's cheek, and he let out a soft breath. Sansa kept her eyes on Jon as he watched Arya walk away, his gaze never wavering. They never used to have such differences in opinions when they were younger. They used to finish each other's sentences, and laugh at jokes without even saying them aloud.

"Do you miss how she used to be?" Sansa asked.

Jon shook his head.

"I love her as she is. I always will. But sometimes when I look at her, I only see hate and anger, and she is _so_ different now, so grown and wise, and it feels like she understands things more than we ever could. She grew up too fast."

"Didn't we all?" Sansa thought of the days back when all she wanted was to fall in love and marry a Knight or a Prince and have him crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty. And those dreams of that little girl never came true. And no Knight came for her, but a Prince who was abusive and cruel and evil. And she realized that while dreams felt so long during sleep, it took only a fleeting moment for them to shatter in pieces.

"Did you mean when you said you wouldn't kneel?" She asked.

Jon looked at her like she had thrust a dagger in him instead.

"I _swore_ to her. I wouldn't take my words back even if I have to die for it."

"And what do you think the Dragon Queen will demand in return for her help against the White Walkers?"

"I don't know," be confessed. "But for now, I hope Arya doesn't put a knife in her the moment she arrives."

Sansa nodded. She didn't have an answer to that. And truthfully, she hoped for that too.


	15. Cersei I

Chapter XV: The Lioness

Qyburn suggested the formation of a new Small Council, but Cersei would hear none of it. She didn't want others to interfere in her rule. She was the Queen, and she would make all decisions.

She watched with admiration at the charred remains of the Great Sept. All her enemies dead, burnt alive, and all because of their grave mistake of making an enemy out of her. Her uncle was inside it too, but she felt no remorse whatsoever. Qyburn's little birds had killed her cousin too, that _weak_ Lancel, who was foolish enough to follow the Old High Sparrow. She passed them all out of her head. Many had died, but in the end she had got what was hers. Nothing else mattered.

She went to the table to pick up a scroll Qyburn had told her to read. Somehow she knew it was from Jaime, and as soon as she opened it to reveal the Lannister sigil, her guess was proved.

 _Your Grace,_

 _Unfortunately, I couldn't keep Riverrun for you for long. The Starks attacked it days after I had taken command, and I didn't have too many men. I lost and came here to Casterly Rock, back to our home._

 _The Starks have Winterfell and the Trident under their rule. I had told you, you have underestimated our enemies. The bastard of Ned Stark, Jon Snow is King now, and even the youngest girl has returned. Lady Sansa is using the skills she learned from you very admirably, it seems. They might even have the Stormlands, considering the former Hand of Stannis Baratheon is now the Hand of the King of the North, and he can convince what's left of Stannis' loyalists back at Storm's End to rally to the cause of the bastard. I am surprised you didn't know of this. Mayhaps_ your _Hand is too busy bringing half-dead corpses back to life._

 _Lannisport stands with you, but no should have thought of the future before burning everyone._

 _If war comes, be ready. I will stand by you loyally. As a soldier, if not as a brother._

 _Jaime Lannister,_

 _Lord of Casterly Rock._

"No!" She crushed the paper in her hands in shock. "No!"

She had made sure no Stark would ever come in her way. Her son had ordered the execution of Ned Stark, her Father had his wife, his son and his good daughter murdered. She herself and her son had made sure to pluck every feather of the Little Dove's wings slowly and painfully, so that no will would be left in her. The two younger boys were declared dead. And that wild, little scrawny girl couldn't have lasted so long in the middle of war.

And the bastard a King. The one who had not even been allowed to stand in front with his family during their visit at Winterfell. He had left for the Night's Watch, and a son of the honorable Eddard Stark couldn't have broken his vows.

But most of all, she was angry at the thought of Sansa. The girl had been so silly and so in love when she had first met her. And it had been the easiest to manipulate her. She had even made her own Father confess to crimes he didn't commit, leading to his death. Such a fragile, weakling. And now to think she had rose to power again was almost an insult to everything she and Joffrey had done to break her.

 _Broken, and bruised and yet..._

And yet, the Starks had managed to take Riverrun from her brother. She would have never taken Jaime to flee from a battle, but she agreed that in the end, our own life is what matters the most.

And Jaime had finally done what their Father wanted him to do: carry on his legacy and take Casterly Rock as his own, even though it was because he had no other choice left.

She thought over everything. She had no allies now, but she had Ser Robert Strong. No one would dare come near her while he stood with her. And her Father's army was the largest in the entire Westeros.

She grinned.

 _Of course, Jaime would worry,_ she thought. _He believes more in truces than in war._

 _If war comes, be ready..._

If war comes, she would make sure this time, nothing would remain of the name Stark. She would have every last one of them killed; the bastard, the wild one and her beautiful little dove.

 _There is only one winner in the game of thrones._

And she was Cersei of House Lannister, Queen of Westeros.

* * *

A/N: A filler chapter, and somewhat rushed. Thank you for all the reviews. Next is a Gendry POV.❤


	16. Gendry I

Chapter XVI: The Beginnings

He rubbed the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Even though Beric had taught him swordplay and then knighted him, his hands still worked better with a hammer than with a sword. So, he had ended up going to the smithy after arriving in Winterfell, and not to the training grounds. Beric had been against it, but Gendry didn't want to fight. He liked being a blacksmith; working at the forge came naturally to him.

He hadn't seen Arya since the day the Lords had been gathered. He wouldn't say he missed her; he had been away from her for too long to miss her just yet. But he would've liked to be near her. It was no use of thinking about that of course, because she was royalty and he was just a smith and a knight. He would see her, when she would want it, neither sooner nor later.

Minutes before the Dragon Queen arrived, every guard was stationed near the gates. The King and Princess Sansa were there, but from his place, he didn't see Arya. His eyes searched, and he knew from the look on the King's face that he was searching for her too. The snow fell around them, covering their furs. Gendry shivered under his worn out leathers, and cursed himself for not bringing his cloak. The two direwolves stood at the head, their eyes shining and beautiful but ferocious at the same time, throwing a warning to any enemy that might dare to come near.

"You know if you are so intent on freezing to death." He almost jumped in surprise at the sudden voice. "I would have gladly buried you in snow myself."

"I know how much pleasure you will get from killing me, Arry." He kept himself from laughing. Barely. "What are you doing here when you should be at the front?"

She was wearing a cloak that hid her face when the hood was down. He realized all of a sudden that he liked her better in his own cloak. He shook the thought away.

"Wasn't I vocal enough about my desire to meet her?" She asked, sarcastically.

"You were," Gendry replied. The girl would never stop amusing him, that was sure.

"I am not going to stand there and pretend that I like her, even though I can do it more convincingly than Jon and Sansa are doing. Let me just enjoy everything from here."

"They are searching for you," he said, watching as the King looked around again, and then whispered something in a guard's ear.

"Let them," she muttered indifferently.

The gates opened slowly, and Gendry noticed the wolves still guarding. He saw more than a hundred men in armour, armed with spears and shields. They marched ahead, and a carriage was carried between them.

The men stopped at the gates, and one single man approached. The carriage was dropped, and the army made way for their Queen.

The first thing he noticed was that the woman's hair was silver. A few strands were braided and the rest fell down her shoulders to her waist. She looked beautiful even from afar. Her skin was fair and her face alluring. Gendry had learned from stories that Targaryen men were the most handsome and women the most bewitching. This Dragon Queen was no different. She walked with an air that promised power and regality, and Gendry could see the men were struck by her beauty instantly.

He heard Arya's sharp intake of breath, and briefly glanced at her to see her eyes fuming with hatred and staring straight ahead. Only when he looked back did he notice another person had come out of the carriage.

"Lannister," she said, seething. She sounded murderous and unforgiving and he found it surprising she didn't advance right then and there at the dwarf.

Gendry took her hand, her _fist_ , actually. Arya didn't fight back. It may have been improper but he didn't let go, and she didn't pull away either.

The moment the King and Queen were in front of each other, Gendry could sense the tension. But from both sides, there were only civil words that came forth. Unlike their sister, King Jon and Princess Sansa didn't look repulsed by Tyrion Lannister, and instead met him like old acquaintances.

"I need to get out of here," he heard Arya say. She fought against his grip. "Please, Gendry leave my hand."

He looked at her, to find her brows inched together and her breathing harsh.

"Let me come with you," he offered. Arya looked hesitant for a minute, then nodded, and dragged him by his hand. She lowered her head making sure no one would see, but from the corner of his eye, Gendry noticed a pair of eyes studying them. He turned around to see Beric, but the man turned his head away as soon as Gendry looked at him. He and Arya were out of everyone's sight, and he didn't leave her hand as she took him towards a place he had never been to before.

"It's the Godswood," she said, clearing his doubt even before he could voice it.

The snow was thicker beneath his boots; there were no sounds of their footsteps and Arya too seemed to slow down her pace after they entered the place.

The first time his eyes fell on the big tree with the face, he almost didn't believe his eyes. The eyes of the face were crying tears as red as blood, and the face was bizarre to him. The air of the Godswood was thick with something mysterious, and the only thing that went constantly through his mind was that he was not supposed to be standing in a place like this, a place he couldn't really understand. The leaves of the trees were red too, and it's branches were wide and long. He looked at Arya, who stood there, perhaps _waiting,_ for him to take it all in.

Their hands were still clasped together.

"I've never seen a Godswood before," he breathed out, still enchanted.

"I know, stupid," Arya said with a small laugh. "Your face says it all. You don't have to be scared, you know."

Gendry shook his head.

"I am not scared," he replied truthfully. "It's just... strange, actually."

"I know." She inched closer to the tree and he followed. "I don't remember the first time I was here, but I was present when Father brought little Rickon to pray here. He started crying and told Father to take him away from here because the face frightened him."

He was looking at her now, and felt her slowly slide her hand away from his.

"Father would have welcomed them too, just like Jon. I don't want Jon to be in the same place as him. A Lannister is a curse to this place. Everything is their fault. Every single fucking thing that happened to my family. If the stupid, fat King hadn't come here, Father would've been alive. And my mother and Robb and Rickon and-"

She stopped herself.

Gendry felt guilty thinking she was actually cursing his father. He didn't feel bad, though. He had never known who his father was until the Red Witch had told him. Arya was more of a truth in his life than his father would ever be.

"I am sorry. You should've stayed there with them," she said. "You don't have to listen to me."

"No, I don't have to," he agreed. "But I'd rather be with you than them."

Arya smiled.

"I am glad you're here, Gendry," she said, lightly nudging his shoulder with his.

"So am I, Milady." To his surprise, she said nothing. "I think I finally found someone worth staying for."

She hummed softly. He suddenly felt a craving for the days they had spent with the Brotherhood. But it was unfair to her for him to think that. She was with her family now, in her home. It was what she deserved, to live in a castle and be happy.

"Jon is a good King," she said, perhaps as a reply to his statement.

Gendry chuckled.

"With all due respect to your brother, Arry, I wasn't talking about him."

Arya narrowed her brows, then laughed, shaking her head. A cold rush of wind passed them, but none of them shivered. It messed Arya's hair and Gendry reached out to touch it, feeling the roughness of her locks between his fingers. Arya turned to him with an amused look.

"What?" She asked.

He shook his head, turning his head to look at the tree.

"Gendry?"

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, catching the form of Beric near his bed, holding a candle. He put the candle down, while Gendry put on his tunic.

"It is the middle of the night, Beric," he said, voice raspy from sleep.

"Why did you two leave earlier?" Beric asked.

Gendry narrowed his eyes.

"It is not something you should concern yourself about," he said, trying not to sound rude.

Beric put a hand on his shoulder.

"Be careful with her, Gendry."

"What are you talking about?" He started to sound frustrated.

"You know what I'm talking about. I know you are good friends, but anything more than that might not be a good move."

"Gods!" Gendry exclaimed in surprise. Sleep was clouding his mind, and he wasn't in the mood for this. "There isn't anything more. She just wanted to leave so I went with her."

"I see more with my one eye than most men see with two. Trust me, lad. You wouldn't want to go that way."

"I'd never think of her like that," Gendry said. "She is a Princess. I am just a bastard."

"It's not about that," Beric replied. "Birth will never stop her from doing anything. She is Arya Stark, for Gods' sake! That girl is more headstrong than a four-year old. She always has what she wants."

"But this will destroy you both," he added, with more seriousness. "She keeps too many secrets and her eyes are colder than ice. She could never give you the warmth you'd crave, and if you try too hard, she will break your heart and won't look back. I respect Arya, she is stronger than most of us will ever be, and not in strength. But take this from a man who cares for you as a father would for a son."

Gendry sat still, his head spinning. He couldn't fathom what Beric was getting at. Arya was his friend, nothing else.

 _She can never be_ , he thought, as his mind went to what happened earlier that day, and her hand in his.

"It wouldn't come to that," he assured the older man. "You do not have to worry."

Beric nodded.

"Go to sleep, lad," he said, and picked up the candle. Gendry watched as he went out the door, and fell back on the bed with a groan.

His sleep had disappeared, and all he could think about was what Beric had said.

 _I am still a bastard_ , he told himself. _I am not worthy of her anyway_.

He fell asleep only a couple of hours before dawn broke.


	17. Arya VI

Chapter XVII: The Prying Eyes

The doors opened and the Dragon Queen entered with her company. Arya stood up with Jon and Sansa, as she looked at the Queen properly for the first time.

Anyone would be a fool not to see that she was very beautiful. She wore a lovely smile, but it didn't fool Arya. Beside her stood a dark-skinned woman, a very few years older than the Queen. There was also the dwarf, who Arya noticed, was wearing the pin of the Hand. Behind them was the Commander of the Unsullied whom she had seen the day before.

"And you must be Princess Arya," the Queen said, looking at her with curiosity.

 _At least, she addresses Jon as a King,_ Arya thought.

"Yes," she replied. She could feel Jon and Sansa were tense.

"It's good to see you again after such a long time, little Stark," Tyrion said. Arya offered a mummer's smile.

"I wish I could say the same, Lord Tyrion."

She saw the Queen send her a pointed look, but she ignored it and turned to Jon.

"Don't you think we should start the feast, brother?" She asked, sound all too civil and joyous. If Jon was surprised, he didn't let on, and simply nodded.

The food and the wine was brought and served. The Queen accepted everything with a thank you, and a smile. Arya knew she was only pretending, and that every intention of everyone present would be truly revealed after the feast ends and the real talks begin. She would praise Sansa on her delicate act as well, _so_ very convincing in showing off her manners and gentle courtesies. Anyone would think her a proper Lady, but only Arya could read her eyes and tell how determined her sister truly was, and how strong. Once, she could even see the Imp look at Sansa with admiration.

The dais was the only place that was comparatively quiet, even after more than one hour had passed. The men were getting drunk one by one, and snorts and laughs and occasional shouts could be heard. Sansa and Tyrion were trying their best to keep the conversation going, and the rulers were mostly silent, answering when asked something and acknowledging when necessary.

Arya gulped down her wine again, feeling the strange taste quite lovely on her tongue.

"Too much, don't you think, little sister?" Jon asked, smiling lovingly at her.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Second glass, Jon," she said, and raised her brow sarcastically as he himself finished drinking another glass. "It wouldn't be wrong to say the wine is the only thing pleasant about this feast."

He laughed softly.

"Thank you for coming. I thought you would disappear like yesterday. Where were you?"

"Just around." She shrugged. "With Gendry."

Jon nodded slowly, and leaned closer to her.

"There is something I need to tell you about him."

Arya was puzzled. What could Jon know about Gendry that she didn't?

"Will you tell me now?" She asked. At the same moment, she coincidentally caught Gendry's eye. He winked at her, looking slightly drunk.

"Later," he said. "Not the time or place."

She nodded.

"Jon?" She asked softly.

He turned to her, looking worried all of a sudden.

"I am sorry," she said. "For being too difficult, and not listening to you, and- You know I love you, right?"

He took her hand and pressed it.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I was being stupid too." He gave her a wide grin. "And I never doubted that you do, little wolf."

She smiled back at him, just as a shiver ran through her entire body, and the glass fell from her hands on the floor.

"Arya?" Jon held her arm. Everyone on the table turned towards her.

"Are you fine?" Sansa asked, ready to rise from her seat.

"Yes, I'm alright," Arya said.

"Are you sure?" Jon asked, worry etched on his face.

Arya nodded, and just then, a guard came towards them.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing. "A raven arrived for Princess Arya from Castle Black."

Jon and Sansa looked puzzled as Arya took it, and before anyone could ask or say anything else, she stood up, with a strange feeling in her legs. She remembered feeling it that night when she was with Gendry and Bran had-

"I would like to retire to my room now," she said, but Jon caught her arm before she turned. He stood up too, and so did everyone.

"I will escort you back," he offered. Arya bit her lip, and shook her head.

"There is no need," she said.

"For my sake, please," he insisted. He turned to Daenerys without waiting for an answer. "I apologize for leaving, Your Grace. My sister will keep you company till I return."

Sansa offered a smile, and a nod.

"Very well, King Jon," Daenerys agreed, looking sceptical. "I hope you are well, Princess Arya."

"Yes," she answered, and felt a tug on her arm. She turned to Jon and he nodded.

As soon as they were inside her room, Arya let out a breath. Jon locked the door from inside and rushed to her side.

"What is wrong?" He asked.

"I think-" Arya began, but stopped when she remembered about the scroll in her hand. She opened it frantically while Jon looked on with surprise.

There was nothing but happiness left in her heart after she finished reading it.

"Bran!" she said, laughing. She looked at Jon and jumped up in his arms. He caught her eagerly, as Arya kept laughing against his neck. She leaned back to look at him. "Bran is at Castle Black. You will need to write to the Lord Commander. They do not believe he's a Stark, but he's safe."

She felt Jon still. His eyes went wide with disbelief.

"Bran is- He's alive?"

"Yes!" She felt her feet hit the ground. "Bring him home, Jon. Write that letter, and bring him home."

"Where was he all this time?" He asked, looking as if he was finally starting to believe.

"I do not know," Arya said. "He was the one who led me to Nymeria and the wolves. He is with the Reed girl, Meera."

"He _led_ you?"

Arya bit her lip.

"I am a warg, Jon, and so is Bran. You are one too, aren't you? Don't you have wolf dreams too?"

Jon looked at her in shock.

"Bran is more powerful," she went on. "I do not know yet how, but he talked to me. Even today at the feast, that was what happened, or so I think."

"I thought only I was cursed with the dreams."

Arya glared at him.

"They aren't a curse! We are the same as our wolves. What they see, we see, and feel. Don't you see the beauty? I know you watched me through Ghost that day at Riverrun while I was fighting. Tell me, how is it not a blessing?"

"Not everything the wolves feel should be felt by us, little sister," he said softly.

Arya decided to let it go. She was too happy to argue about anything at all.

She placed her palms over Jon's cheeks.

"Bran is coming home," she said.

Jon smiled, then it slowly turned to a laugh, as he took her in his arms this time, and kissed her forehead several times. In that moment, everything was forgotten. Lannisters and Targaryens and White Walkers and wars and everything. She felt like a child again, sharing a moment of true happiness with Jon.

"Why won't you happy like this all the time?" He asked.

"Because you keep making me angry," she said, and playfully lifted her hand to hit him, but he caught it halfway. It was then that she started feeling afraid, because happiness in her life had never been constant. She was afraid of losing everyone and everything all over again, and she knew she wouldn't be able to take it this time, no matter how strong she was. If anything happened to Jon, she would crumble.

"You have to go back to the feast," she said, after a while.

Jon was looking at her with soft eyes, specks of silver shining through the grey, and she wondered if her own eyes ever changed color like that.

"I have to," he said, then pressed her forehead against hers with a sigh. "But I can choose _not_ to."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"And what, stay with me all night?"

She immediately wondered if her question was improper or of it made Jon uncomfortable. She looked up at him, and for the first time since her training, she failed to read a face. Maybe she wasn't concentrating enough.

Jon took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles, then her forehead and hair.

"Goodnight, Arya," he said, and left the room as quietly as anyone could.

 _She roamed through the wild with her brother in tow. The air smelt sweet and the moon shone bright, drowning everything in white, ethereal glow._

 _The taste of blood still lingered on her tongue even after an hour of feeding. The she-wolf turned to her brother, who followed her loyally and patiently to every unknown territory she thought of visiting. In the shadow of a tree, they sat down, exhausted. Slowly, the other wolf approached her, with eyes red as the blood on his teeth. She felt her brother's muzzle brushing across her stomach, and she kicked back. He came close again, and sniffed along her back, his paw scratching the skin, and in moments, she was pinned beneath his strength, and his nose was sniffing her entire body, slowly and surely._

 _Nymeria howled to her pack, and they howled back, but none came to stop the giant wolf with red eyes as he kept his sister down on the ground, not letting her move._

Arya gasped awake, hot and exhilarated. She kicked off the furs, feeling sweat drip down her neck. She saw the moon through the window and realized it was far from dawn.

She jumped down from her bed, and went to stand at the window. The soft, cold breeze brushed her face and chilled her sweaty skin. Her breathing was finally steadying.

 _Not everything the wolves feel should be felt by us, little sister._

She grabbed the windowsill hard with her hands, the wood turning her skin red, and heard a desperate howl far from the woods.


	18. Jon VI

Chapter XVIII: The Blood of the Dragon

They had welcomed Bran with smiles and hugs and tears. The boy had grown, as was obvious when Jon looked at him, but not only in height. He looked wiser, as if he knew a thousand things they all had no idea about.

They sat together on the floor, gathered near the fireplace, like they all used to when they were children. Robb was not there, and neither was Rickon. Still, everyone was happy, or at least they looked like it.

Arya closed the door behind her, entering with a smile on her lips that hadn't left since she'd seen Bran. Jon watched as she shed her cloak, rubbing her hands together and crouching near the fire.

"Unfortunately for Sansa, Meera didn't want to wear the dresses she gave her," she said, amusement in her voice. "So I had to give her some of my clothes."

Sansa sighed in defeat.

"Meera never wore dresses. She likes to be able to fight when needed," Bran told them.

"I'm glad she was with you," Arya said. She took Bran's hand, but inched closer to Jon while sitting.

"Summer was with me too," Bran said. "And Hodor. They died."

"Who killed them?" Sansa asked. Jon remembered the half-wit. And the wolf: part of Ghost's pack.

"Wights," Bran said, making Jon snap his eyes towards him in shock. He went on, "They found the cave we were in, and there were so many of them. They killed Summer and then Hodor. The children tried, but they died too. Their numbers were greater than I'd imagined."

"Children?" Arya asked, looking at Bran, and then at Jon.

"The Children of the Forest," Bran explained.

"Like in the stories of Old Nan," Sansa mused.

Bran nodded.

"Yes and no. They were the ones who created the Night's King, to keep the Andals away. But they turned, and now even the Children are gone, and the Night's King's army grows. Everyday."

"If they are dead," Arya said. "How could we kill them? How do you kill someone that's already dead?"

Jon tried to ignore the word _we._

"Fire," Bran said.

"And Valyrian steel," Jon finished. "They were at Hardhome. He brought the Wildlings back to life in front of my own eyes. It was magic of the worst kind."

"That is why we need the Queen's dragons," Bran said. "With the dragons, we have a chance."

"She will have to help us. She cannot rule a land inhabited by corpses," Sansa said, with a frown.

"She _will_ ," Bran said, with too much confidence. "She has someone of her blood here. She will help."

"Of her blood?" Arya asked, intrigued. "All Targaryens are dead."

"Not all," Bran replied, shaking his head. His voice was calm, and he was looking straight at Jon. Something told him he wouldn't like what was coming.

"The three-eyed raven showed me a vision. Of when Father fought with King Robert. He killed Arthur Dayne, while he was guarding a tower. Our aunt Lyanna was in the tower, covered with blood, dying."

Jon had heard bits of the story, but not all. Everyone was silent, concentrating on Bran's words.

"And there was a child in her arms. And Father promised to take care of him, to look after him. And love him. The child was Lyanna's." He looked at Jon again. "And Rhaegar Targaryen's. Father brought him here to Winterfell, and told everyone the child was his own, because if the King had known, he would've killed him. He grew up as a bastard, when he should've lived as a Prince."

Jon felt his heart beat wildly. It couldn't be. He was Ned Stark's son. He was their half-brother. Lady Catelyn hated him because of it. He wasn't Lyanna's, he was some woman's who Ned Stark had loved and bedded outside his marriage. He was a bastard.

"I am your family," he said.

"Yes," Bran agreed. "Our cousin."

"I do not believe you," he heard Arya say.

"I wouldn't lie about this, sister. You know it. You can write to Meera's father, Lord Howland Reed, if you want. He knew this. Only he and Father, and no one else. And now us."

Arya clutched at Jon's arm.

"Rhaegar raped her," Sansa said.

Jon felt bile rise to his throat.

"No," Bran said. "He loved her. And she loved him. It was wrong of them, and unfair, but they did. Their love was the reason for the deaths of countless people, their own families. But in the end, he died for her, and took her with him. It was never rape. It was only love, and nothing else."

Jon felt his head spinning, and all he wanted to do was scream and cry. He rose up from the floor. Arya's hand was clutching at him still, but he gently took it off him.

"Jon."

She sounded just as confused as he was. But in the moment, he couldn't bear to look at anyone. Arya called his name again, but he ignored her voice and walked out of the warmth of the room.

His world had turned upside down. And he had no idea what to do about it.

It was very late, he knew that, and it was highly improper for a man to visit a woman's chambers at the hour, but he didn't find it in himself to care. He had spent hours alone, thinking and searching for an answer to all of it, but he hadn't found one. In the end, he understood that he couldn't do it alone, and that he needed someone.

And who would _ever_ understand him more than Arya did?

He knocked on her door softly enough, still a doubt floating in his mind about whether he should do this. But Arya didn't give him much time to think over it, and opened the door at the second knock, surprised and yet looking relieved to see him. She didn't look like she was sleeping, but she had furs wrapped around herself, from her neck down to her legs and touching the floor. She clutched the ends together with one hand over her chest. And smiled.

"Can I come in?" He asked. The question was stupid. She'd never say no.

Arya nodded, and opened the door for him to enter, then closed it behind him, locking it without making a sound. Jon looked around, and there was a candle near her bed, the flame dancing and flickering. She had definitely been awake. As much as he knew her, she was never one to sleep with a candle still burning.

"You weren't sleeping?" He asked, ghosting his fingers over the flame. Targaryens could withstand fire, he had heard.

"No, I couldn't," she replied.

Jon felt his fingers start to pain so he pulled them away.

"Why?" He asked, looking at her as she sat on the bed.

"Just... Dreams."

"Nightmares?"

"No, just dreams," she said, shrugging. She pulled him by the hand to sit near her. "Are you alright?"

"I do not know." He sighed, and looked at their fingers locked together. They had always been each other's favourites, much to everyone's surprise. "He lied to me about everything I am. When I think about my childhood now, about Robb and Winterfell and you and everyone, it all feels like a cruel jape."

"Don't say that," she told him, softly. She interlocked their fingers together tighter. "This doesn't change _anything_. Expect that- that you didn't deserve my mother's wrath and cruelty, or the way some people treated you."

Jon saw her smile disappear at that, and felt guilty that he made her sad as well, when it was only his burden to bear.

"The Queen is my aunt," he said aloud, for the first time.

How would Daenerys take this news?

"She is," Arya agreed, biting her lip, and he could tell she was thinking about something. Something she didn't like. He tried but he couldn't make out what.

"What do you think will happen when this truth comes out?" He asked.

"I don't know. Neither do I care. As long as you won't change."

She meant it as a question, and that hurt him.

"Do you think I will?" He placed his hand on her neck, her hair falling over his knuckles, and Arya shook her head. She let her furs drop from around her, and reached out to touch his face. Jon closed his eyes.

"My heart says you won't," she whispered.

"Your heart speaks true," he said, smiling, opening his eyes to find that she was smiling too. "And you are here to smack sense into me if I do anything wrong, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes, and they both laughed. This was what she did to him: make him happy when he thought he couldn't be. Arya inched closer to him and dropped her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with eyes that shone like fire.

"Aren't you cold, you little thing?" He asked her, and she nudged him briefly.

"I'm not little," she said defensively. He wanted to say that she was, but he knew it wasn't really true.

"I should probably go. You must be sleepy," he said.

"No," she said instantly. "Don't go. I don't want to go to sleep. Not yet."

Jon looked down at her face, and put his palm over her cheek.

"What are these dreams?" He asked her, genuinely worried; curious about what kept her up at night and took away her peace.

He felt Arya fidget once, and then move herself deeper into his embrace.

"Wolf dreams," she said.

"I thought you liked seeing through Nymeria," he asked, puzzled.

"It's different these days," she said, but didn't elaborate her words. Jon himself hadn't had a wolf dream for almost a week, and wondered if he should have, if only to know what bothered Arya. He found it strange that those dreams kept her awake, when even _he_ , who didn't appreciate this gift, was able to have a sound sleep after being inside Ghost during the night.

"Jon?"

He turned to her.

"There are only a few hours till the morn," she said, voice hesitant and small. "Will you stay with me? You don't _have_ to, but I would just like if-" she stopped herself.

"I don't think that would be proper, little sister," he said as an answer, feeling uneasy. He had slept beside her many nights as a child, but they were older now, and he shouldn't have really minded but he did.

"Of course," she said, pulling herself away from him quickly. "I was just being stupid. You should go. I think I want to sleep now, and it's late too. Goodnight, Jon."

Her words were so abrupt, almost as if she was telling him to get out of there. He could do nothing but nod and say a small goodnight and leave. He saw her blowing out the candle before closing the door, and he felt like the most useless person in Westeros.

She couldn't sleep, and she needed him to stay so that he could help keep the dreams away, but he was thinking of bloody propriety. Of course, she would push him away. Arya, of all people, _hated_ when words like that came between them.

He almost turned around again, and went back to her. Only the thought of her not wanting him guided his steps ahead, towards his own room. And when he entered it, his mind was filled with Bran's words again. He had managed to forget them for a while, he realized.

He should've stayed with her.


	19. Arya VII

Chapter XIX: The Clash

Bran and Arya arrived before everyone else at the Wolfswood. The eerie silence would have scared many, but both of them had spent years enveloped in things worse than darkness.

"I saw you, you know. In my dreams," Arya said, running her palm over the trunk of a tree. The bark scratched her skin. "While I was in Braavos, but I thought my mind was playing vile tricks on me. I thought you dead for such a long time."

Bran was sitting on a chair, that had been made to make it easy for people to move him. The bottom of it was smooth to easily slide over the snow, and the seat rose high enough for him that he didn't have to look up at everyone.

"I have been watching Nymeria since before you crossed the Narrow Sea. She linked us, although you didn't really know it was her?"

Arya shook her head.

"I did know. Who else could I have seen through but her? The dreams seldom showed me other wolves, and places were always swallowed in darkness and too hazy to recognize. I knew it was her, but little else. I didn't even know where to find her. Thank you for bringing her to me."

"I missed you," Bran said, taking her hand. "Every one of you."

"So did I," she agreed. She had never really realized how much she had missed them until they were all back together again. She swore she wouldn't lose her family again, no matter the cost. No matter what she'd have to do to keep her family safe.

She saw Jon coming, his arm taken by Daenerys. They were talking, smiling, and Arya looked away.

"Jon hasn't told her," she said to Bran.

"Yes," he replied, their hands back by their sides. "Are you glad about it?"

Arya frowned, shrugging as if she didn't care. It was Jon's decision when he wanted to tell his aunt the truth, and truthfully she didn't want to be a part of it at all.

Jon threw her a radiant smile, and she hoped the one she returned was equally wide. Daenerys let go of his arm, and slowly enough, Tyrion was by her side. The Queen motioned to a few men to bring forth what all of them were waiting to watch.

"Why would she keep them chained?" Arya whispered to Bran, hearing the growls of the beasts. Being close to the Queen kept them comparatively calm, but perhaps they could sense there were strangers around even if they couldn't see.

"This is an unlikely place for them. Even if one person gets hurt, there will be consequences."

"But they are so-" she paused as the huge silk sheets were pulled down, revealing such large creatures, and of such beauty, that Arya's heart leapt in her chest, with equal amount of excitement and amazement.

" _Beautiful_ ," she finished.

The beasts roared in anger or just so, she didn't know. Her eyes were stuck on them, refusing to look anywhere else. All those stories of dragons; she felt like she was inside a dream. A magnificent dream that wasn't ending anytime soon.

One was black as night, and it's red markings shone like rubies. It looked ready to strike, but she wasn't afraid, only intrigued. One was green, and the other creamy white, almost like the Dragons Queen's hair. They were so large, looming so high over her. Suddenly, she felt a sense of admiration for Daenerys, but it didn't stay long. There was some part of her that refused to like Daenerys Targaryen.

The dragons were crying loudly, and crashing against their cages. Arya wanted to watch them breathe fire, but that would bring no one no good, she understood.

"Hush," Dany bid them, and they were getting less violent by the second, but not completely calm.

And then her eyes went on their own to Bran, and she saw him sit calmly, then suddenly his eyes turned white. She turned with excitement towards the dragons, and saw that the white one's eyes had turned the same color as it's skin's. The same color as Bran's eyes.

"What is he doing?" Daenerys asked, alarmed, but Tyrion stopped her from approaching Bran.

"No, Your Grace," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Let him."

Everyone stood still and watched Bran silently as he controlled the dragon, making it kneel and whimper almost like it was more of a tamed dog than a dreaded beast.

"How can he do that?" Daenerys asked in shock.

"He's a warg," Arya told her, smiling proudly at her brother. A minute later, Bran's eyes turned back to their own color, and the dragon's too, but it was much less violent than before, if at all.

Everyone was in amazement, and Sansa and Jon were smiling widely. Arya was somehow annoyed that Daenerys still kept looking at Bran as if she was angry at him.

A Stark controlling a dragon.

"He said I will fly," Bran mumbled beside her, only loud enough for her to hear.

"What?" She asked.

"The three-eyed raven told me I would never walk again. But I will _fly_."

Arya couldn't really understand his words, but the way he said them convinced her he was glad for it. Arya turned back to the Queen, and watched her whisper something in Grey Worm's ear.

 _Arya_.

She stilled. Bran was inside her head.

 _Your turn._

Her eyes widened in surprise.

Warg a dragon? But she wasn't as powerful as Bran.

"I cannot," she told him, voice a little louder than a whisper.

 _Try_ , he insisted.

Arya gulped, goosebumps forming on her skin. She inhaled sharply, and watched around. No one was paying attention anymore, at least not too much to them as much as to the dragons.

She clenched her fists at her sides, and looked at the green dragon's eyes. It was smaller than the black one, and looked less fierce too. And she tried, to creep inside it's skin, be within it. The dragon growled loudly, and she felt only silence around her. Arya gasped, and kept looking at the dragon's eyes; eyes of an animal that could crush her under it's feet if it wanted to, and it wouldn't cost it a breath.

But the dragon only started growing more restless, hitting it's body against the bars of the cage, flames shortly flowing out of its mouth. Arya wanted to stop, but at the same time she didn't. She held her hand out towards Bran, and found his. Their hands locked as the Dragon screamed in pain this time, and Arya almost jumped back in fear.

"Stop it!" Daenerys ordered, voice panicked. The dragon was resisting, because Arya wasn't powerful enough to do it.

 _Go on_ , Bran kept urging her. _I'm right here._

"Stop it!" Daenerys yelled, as the dragon breathed out flames across the snow, yellow and dangerous and everyone shrank back in fear. The Unsullied braced themselves, shields and spears in hand.

Arya felt a hand on her arm, fingers sinking over her tunic, into her skin. She turned abruptly, and the Queen glowered at her with fury in her eyes, lips thin.

"How dare you?" She said, spitting every word with anger. "You're hurting him, you insolent girl! Stop this madness!"

Arya looked at her with a frown, then at her hand.

"Leave my arm, Your Grace," she said, calmly, but it only made Daenerys grip her harder. The dragon screamed.

"Now!" The Queen growled. Arya saw Jon take steps towards them, and Grey Worm advanced his spear just a little. This was a dangerous situation, and she was disobeying his Queen with every passing second.

Arya left Bran's hand, and looking at him, realized that he was still trying to warg into the dragon.

"Stop Bran Stark," the Queen ordered. Grey Worm moved forward and in a flash, the Northern guards readied their swords, and then every soldier present. Arya saw Sandor Clegane move to Sansa's side and put his hand on his sword. Ready.

As soon as an Unsullied slipped behind Bran and put a hand on him, Arya's fingers went inside her cloak and she pulled out the dagger, pointing it towards the Queen, near her neck.

"Tell him to move _away_ from my brother," she spat. Now everything was tense, and silent and she heard Jon call her name softly. Daenerys looked no less angry than her, but Arya's days of being intimidated were long gone.

Their eyes stayed locked for some moments; Daenerys ready to show Arya her wrath and Arya daring her to. All the Queen needed was to say one word and all hell would break loose in the middle of the Wolfswood.

"Arya!" She heard Jon's voice. "Drop your blade!"

Suddenly, she was angry at him too.

"Your Grace," Bran said, and she tensed a little. "I apologize for this."

Daenerys looked at her, but Arya moved first, dropping her hand and pushing her dagger back inside her furs in one swift move. She threw a warning look at Dany, but the Queen didn't look frightened, only perhaps, a little shocked. She backed away.

"She wouldn't have hurt me," Bran whispered to Arya. "You know that."

"She could've told you to stop, not order her Unsullied to _make_ you," she said. Her eyes met Sansa's, and her sister, instead of looking shocked and appalled, only nodded in her direction.

She remembered the last time she had not been cautious. She had ended up soaked and bloody on the streets of Braavos.

She started walking towards the castle, but Jon was before her in a minute, eyes angry. He pulled her away from all of them, until they were hidden from the eyes of everyone else

"Why would you do that? Are you out of your mind?" He asked, grabbing her arm.

"Her soldier grabbed Bran!"

Jon groaned.

"For fuck's sake, Arya! No one would've hurt Bran! You cannot go and pull a dagger on everyone!"

"But she-"

"Stop it, Arya!" He roared. "I'm tired of your actions! I'm trying to keep peace and you mess everything by your childish actions! You could've started a fucking battle out there! You don't want me to kneel? Then don't destroy the chances of a negotiation or else _you_ will be the reason the North will be burnt to ashes!"

Arya took short and sharp breaths. He had _never_ talked to her like that.

"Alright, Your Grace," she said, voice as small as she could manage. "I'll stay out of your way from now on. I apologize."

"Apologize to the Queen," he said.

Arya felt the need to snap at him, but she didn't and nodded her head obediently.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Jon let out a breath, and Arya turned around to leave.

"Arya," he whispered, and his arm came around her neck and pulled her against him slowly, his chest to her back. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

Arya laughed softly.

"You are starting to prove my heart wrong, Your Grace."

Jon tensed behind her, and his arm lost its grip.

Arya slipped away.


	20. Jon VII

Chapter XX: The Arrangement

He handed Dany the letter from Howland Reed, brushing her hand in the process. The Queen looked at him with doubt, and it was evident that she still didn't believe a word of his. Beside him, Tyrion stood silently, eyeing both of them with his usual contemplative gaze, anf for the first time, Jon didn't see a glass of wine in his hand.

"I would prefer reading this alone, King Jon," Dany said, and without waiting for his approval, left the solar as gracefully as she had come, her cloak brushing the ground below her. The fires flickered as she went.

"Who would have thought?" Tyrion said, when the door closed behind the Queen. "A dragon raised among the wolves. Can you imagine how many songs they'll sing about this?"

"I do not care for songs," Jon said sharply.

"I know you don't, King Jon." Tyrion paused for a while. "I was merely trying to ease the tension."

"I am afraid you cannot. I have not known ease for years. We had enough wars to fight as it is, and I cannot imagine the impact this news will have on the North."

"Are you afraid the North won't follow you anymore?" Tyrion asked, surprised.

Jon said nothing.

 _It had never been my right_ , he thought. _Sansa wants it, and Bran is the rightful heir._

"The Queen and I have been talking," Tyrion began. "I told her the North has no will to bend the knee. I do not even think your family wants that. And I know that Daenerys wants the North, and she will stop at nothing to get it. But of course, I do not think thinking rashly would solve the problem. Even if you are Rhaegar's son, you are also a Stark. Maybe you are more of a wolf than you'll ever be a dragon. What I propose is, and I've told her this as well, that you make an alliance with the Crown."

Jon frowned.

"And how would I do that?"

"Oh, it's quite simple," Tyrion said. "You are unmarried. So is the Queen. A marriage alliance is better than any other. Marry the Queen, and you won't need to bend the knee. You being King will give the Crown power over the North, and your Stark blood will keep the North from ever rising against the Crown."

Jon stood frozen.

"And the Queen has consented to this?"

Tyrion shook his head.

"Daenerys knows she has to marry. She would marry someone eventually to form an alliance. Half the kingdom is already behind her. She needs the North now, and I do not think she could find a better husband than you."

"We barely know each other, Lord Tyrion," Jon said, trying to maintain the civil tone of his voice.

He remembered his parents.

 _It would only bring doom. A Targaryen and a Stark._

"It is the most peaceful solution, Your Grace. Think about it. It will link the North directly to the Crown. I even talked to your cousin about this."

His heart jumped.

"Arya?" He breathed.

"No, I meant Sansa," Tyrion said, smirking. "I like to keep out of Princess Arya's way. She is not too fond of me, if it isn't entirely obvious."

"And what did she say?" Jon asked.

 _Sansa married for politics. More than once._

"She didn't really give an opinion. And I unfortunately couldn't make anything of her silence." Tyrion sat up straighter, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.

 _A marriage to the Queen._

It would solve things, he couldn't deny that.

 _Ned Stark married for duty. And he was happy._

"I must speak to the Queen about this," he said.

"Of course," Tyrion replied, smiling. "It was her intent to speak with you today itself, but unfortunately you gave her a much more shocking news already."

Jon sighed. He had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be a Targaryen.

"But she is my aunt," he pointed out, and felt uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Yes, but Targaryens do not care for the laws of the Gods. And maybe it's time to stop thinking about morality and make decisions for the benefit of the realm. If you can stop the war and the suffering, the people _will_ love you, no matter what. It would be the honourable thing to do, Your Grace."

 _My uncle was honourable,_ Jon thought.

"You are perhaps wiser than me, Your Grace," Tyrion said. "Do not make haste. I trust you will make the best decision in the end."

The imp rose from his seat, and bowed.

"Good day, Your Grace."

"What are you doing here?"

Arya frowned, and the blacksmith lowered his eyes. Jon noticed his hand slip away from Arya's arm. He stared at her hard, and without breaking his gaze, hissed out,

"Leave us, Ser Gendry."

"Why?" Arya blurted out.

"Maybe I should, Arr-"

"No, I need to know _why_ ," she turned to him, and her eyes were ice. "What have I done now, Your Grace? Am I not allowed to come to the Godswood at night, or do I need to take your permission for that?"

Jon clenched his fists.

"Ser Gendry, please leave," he said again, noticing Arya nostrils flare.

The blacksmith bowed. Arya stopped him with a hand and a word, but he was wise enough to remove her hand and bid her a goodnight.

"What were you doing with him in the middle of the night, Arya?" Jon asked, as soon as he was out of sight.

"He's my friend, Jon. We were talking."

"What is so important that you have to talk about at this hour?"

"Nothing! I couldn't sleep so I went to him, and we came here! Why are you being so angry over nothing?"

"Nothing, Arya?" Jon took her face in his hands. "You know what men are like. You shouldn't be alone with him this late."

Arya stepped back.

"Or what? I can take care of my fucking _virtue_ , Jon, if that's what you're worried about. And honestly, just because _you_ are going to fuck the Queen doesn't mean that everyone in this castle is intending to fuck someone."

Jon eyes widened.

"What are you saying?"

Arya shook her head.

"You think I don't know what your plan is? You're going to marry her, aren't you?"

"Who told you that?" His voice was small now, and for some reason he felt guilty.

"No one needs to tell me anything," Arya said, studying him closely. "I know what goes on in this castle even if you are so hell bent on keeping secrets from me, _cousin_."

"I haven't decided on marrying her," Jon insisted, ignoring her last word. "Not yet."

"But you will," Arya said.

 _I don't want to._

 _But I may have to._

"Did he touch you?" Jon asked, suddenly.

Arya frowned.

"What do you mean?"

He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up.

"Did he touch you?" He whispered. "Or kiss you?"

Arya's lips trembled.

"No," she replied.

Jon withdrew his hand. He heard a growl from beside him, and turned to look at Ghost and Nymeria retreating silently into the night.

"But maybe I won't try to stop him if he does," Arya said, and Jon turned to her sharply. Arya walked past him, and Jon grabbed her hand.

"You'll put him in danger," he warned.

"I dare you to hurt him, Jon," she said, and pulled away. She called for Nymeria but the two wolves were nowhere to be seen. Arya looked at him one last time, and throwing him a grin, walked away.

 _If he touches her..._

He was afraid he would do more than just hurt him.


	21. Sansa II

Chapter XXI: The Wolfsguard

Sansa looked up from her needlework, her ears catching the sounds of the knocks. She waved her handmaiden to open the door, to reveal the Queen, her smile sweet and reaching her eyes.

"Princess Sansa," she greeted.

The maid bowed and left. Sansa stood up and keeping her needlework aside, straightened her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Your Grace," she bowed her head gently.

"Will you walk with me, Sansa?" The Queen asked. Her silver dress was darker than her hair, flowing down her feet and sweeping the floor.

"Of course, Daenerys," Sansa replied. They had taken to calling each other by their first names, for which she had received a swift and elaborate eye roll from Arya.

They walked through the corridors and out into Winterfell's yard, but well away from the soldiers who were practicing. The snow fell softly, dancing around them. Sansa felt a snowflake land on her eyelash, and fluttered it away.

She saw Ghost and Nymeria huddled together near the gates, eyes glinting and bright.

"Did you have a wolf as well?" Daenerys asked.

"Yes," Sansa said and sighed. "All of us had one. Mine was called Lady."

She remembered the quiet, tame wolf. Her one true companion.

"What happened?"

"She died," Sansa replied. The wound was still all too fresh. "Because of my own stupidity."

 _I should have told the truth. Lady died because of me. Even Arya lost Nymeria._

"I know you suffered much, Sansa," Daenerys said softly. "Lord Tyrion told me much of it."

Sansa felt uneasy. She did not want to talk about her past. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about with anyone.

"It is the past. I believe all of us have demons we would rather not face."

Daenerys nodded. Her eyes reached far, and all Sansa could think of was how brave this woman was. She had made her mark and left the ones who put her down behind.

 _Just like I have._

"We're so much alike, Sansa," she said, and her eyes were now softer, and for a moment they reminded Sansa of Margaery, even though their eyes were so vividly different.

"You would marry him? My cousin?" The word felt alien on her tongue, even though it had not been long since she had started calling Jon _brother_.

"It is not my dearest wish. But I trust Lord Tyrion." She took a deep breath, and turned to Sansa, taking her hand in hers gently. "To speak the truth, Sansa, I have delayed myself in Winterfell long enough. I must go to King's Landing soon, and before I do, I must have the North's support. I do not think you have the men to fight after the battle with the Boltons. And I do not wish to engage in an unnecessary strife. Let us unite our houses and stop this old rivalry once and for all." Her smile was everything but genuine. "Even if your cousin and I might not be happy, I think we could live knowing we have made peace."

 _Does Jon even have a say in this_ , she wanted to ask her.

Because it didn't sound like he did.

"Has he agreed?" Sansa asked. She didn't fail to keep in mind that they had yet to tell their bannermen of this.

Daenerys smiled again.

"Your cousin is a good man," she said simply. "And wise."

 _Who comes before the Old Gods this night?_

 _Sansa of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. Who comes to claim her?_

 _Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell._

 _I take this man._

 _Take off your clothes._

Sansa woke up with a scream that made her throat go raw. There were tears in her eyes, and she had scratched and tore the bedsheet with her nails.

 _He is dead. He is dead. He is dead._

Her body was aching, even though he wasn't anywhere near to make it so. Ramsay's face, even in her nightmares, was enough to shake every bone in her body, and make her blood burn.

"I am Sansa Stark," she whispered. "Ramsay is de-"

The door was pushed open and Sansa turned her head around to look at the intruder.

"Little- Princess Sansa," Sandor called, a tinge of worry dancing about his voice. He wasn't supposed to be outside her door, but she didn't say that out loud.

"I am sorry, See Clegane," she said, without taking her eyes off him. Her palms were still sweating. "I had a bad dream."

"Just call for me if you're scared, Princess. I'm just outside," he said, and turned to leave.

"Don't," she called him abruptly. His eyes turned softer when he looked at her. "I want you to stay."

She was ready for his refusal, but none came. He closed the door softly, and walked over to her bed so that he was standing in the middle of the room. He turned away from her, and Sansa realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do. No more than she had.

"You could sit, you know," she proposed.

He nodded and walked over to sit down on a chair in the farthest corner of the room.

Sansa curled up on her bed again, facing the stony, grey wall. Sandor didn't make a sound. It was as if he wasn't there.

"Would you have done it?" She asked aloud, all of a sudden.

She heard him groan.

"Done what?" His voice was softer than she'd thought it would be.

"Kept me safe?"

 _Lord Baelish._

 _Aunt Lysa._

 _Ramsay._

"Because _I_ think I would have been safe if I'd gone with you," she whispered softly, but she was sure he'd heard. "Ramsay wouldn't have gotten his filthy hands on me then."

"He's dead, Little Bird," Sandor said after a while. "He isn't coming anywhere near you now." There was pause, and Sansa wrapped her blankets more tightly around her body. "Go to sleep."

She didn't say anything after that. Maybe she was annoying him. Still, she was glad he was there. Even though she would never have called him if he hadn't barged in through the door.

 _He isn't a monster,_ she thought, looking over her shoulder just for a bit to see what he was doing.

His eyes were closed.

 _He looks like one and he isn't. And Ramsay looked a thousand times more handsome and turned out to be worse than the devil._

Sansa closed her eyes.

And woke up when her room was filled with light the next morning.

She was alone.


	22. Jon VIII

Chapter XXII: The Remains

"Jon, wake up!"

He opened his eyes to see Arya above him, shaking him awake. The hint of panic in her voice frightened him and he sat up frantically.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" He asked, worriedly.

"I'm fine, but you have to come with me." Her lower lip trembled. "It's Sansa. Jon, please, come with me."

"What happened?" Jon pulled on his furs as the chill hit his skin. It was perhaps almost midnight.

Arya shivered, and took a deep breath.

"She's with child, Jon."

The duo rushed from his room, as Jon could hear the beating of his heart loud in his chest. The thought of Ramsay's child made him angry, but at the same time he was scared for Sansa. He knew how much she loathed Ramsay, and he could make a guess at what she was feeling.

The door to her room opened to reveal Sansa on the bed, her body shaking with tears. Beside her was Brienne, and the way Sansa clutched her stomach with her fingernails, Jon knew what pain she was going through.

His fists clenched at the thought of Ramsay.

 _She didn't deserve this,_ he thought.

Arya took his hand and he looked down at her to see that her eyes were locked onto Sansa, a fear looming in her eyes.

And anger too. The same anger he felt.

Sansa saw them, and her gasps echoed through the room.

"If I have this child, it will remind me everyday of what that monster did to me." Her voice was calmer than he thought. She was strong, he knew that.

"You will have it, won't you?" Jon asked. He couldn't imagine Sansa killing her unborn child, no matter whose it was.

"You could keep it you know," Arya's voice came from behind him. "We wouldn't hate you for it."

"But how can I live knowing it is Ramsay's?" Sansa's voice was filled with venom, and she spat the bastard's name.

"It is not just Ramsay's," Jon said, approaching her and kneeling down beside her bed. He took her hands in between his own. "It is yours. It has the Stark blood and the Tully blood. It is more yours than his. And it will always be."

Sansa leaned her head back against the headboard, and Jon kissed her cold fingers.

"He or she will be a Stark of Winterfell," Arya said, placing her hand on top of Sansa's head and running her fingers through her long, auburn hair. It was messier than Jon had ever seen it.

The Maester entered the room, and bowed. He took a vial out of his pocket with his shaking fingers and handed it towards her.

"The Princess asked for dreamwine," he said. "Too much can harm the child so I made a milder concoction."

Arya took it instead.

"I would appreciate if you wouldn't speak of this to _anyone_ , Maester Wolkan," she said. Jon did not fail to hear the threat.

"Of course, Princess," the Maester said, and bowed before leaving the room silently. Arya opened the vial and smelled it, for some reason, then put it on the nightstand.

"He was a Bolton Maester for a long time," she whispered.

"Would you love it?" Sansa asked aloud, her hand ghosting over her stomach. For a moment, she looked like Catelyn Stark, as Jon remembered her- auburn hair, blue eyes and the gentle face.

"Of course I would," he said, without hesitation.

"With all my heart," Arya added. She leaned down to place a kiss on Sansa's head.

"She should rest," Arya told Jon, and he nodded, getting up and tightening his hold on Sansa's hand before letting go.

"I'll stay with her, Your Grace," Brienne offered.

Jon nodded.

"Thank you," he said, looking at Sansa again, who now had the vial in her hands, and was rolling it between her fingers, and her eyes were moist, but void of tears, and he feared that was worse than anything else.

Jon found himself following Arya to her chambers, instead of going back to his own. He closed the door behind him as softly as he could. Her silence unnerved him, as it always did. He anticipated her anger, but it was nowhere to be seen.

She sat down on her bed, and held her head in her hands.

"She is good, Jon," she said, and for the first time since her return, he found her voice different, and not as steady as usual.

"She didn't deserve the fucking bastard and she doesn't deserve to have his child!" Arya turned to look at him, and he saw tears in her eyes. "She deserves Knights and flowers and everything she once dreamed of. Not this."

"It was a summer dream," Jon said, walking to her. "We all had dreams, remember? And which one of us got what we wanted?"

She clutched his arm.

"Didn't you see the look in her eyes?" She asked. "She is afraid that she will never be able to love the child with all her heart because it will always remind her of him."

"She will," Jon told her. "As will we. As will everyone."

"I didn't think you would advise her to keep it. You hate the Boltons," he said.

"We all do, Jon," Arya said, and shook her head. "Do you realize who will you be when you marry Daenerys?"

Jon frowned at her unexpected question.

"You'll be Jon Targaryen, and even if you don't, I don't think she will legitimize you as a Stark knowing who you are." Arya looked at him, and bit her lip. "You know that Bran cannot have children. I do not plan to get married, ever. I asked the Maester today. Sansa is almost three months with child. After everything Ramsay did to her, if she takes Moon Tea, she might become infertile for life. Sansa is the only one who can produce a Stark heir. Have you not thought of it?"

"And you would have a Bolton inherite Winterfell?" Jon asked, weighing their options, and realising that she wasn't really wrong.

"It isn't worse than House Stark disappearing entirely. And he'll grow up here, won't he? If Sansa wishes and marries again, she could have her other child inteherit, but it will be hers afterall."

"It could be yours," he suggested, even though the thought of Arya marrying was strange.

She laughed and leaned against him.

"I would never. That's not me."

He kissed her temple twice. Her room was darker than his, with no candles and only the moonlight shining through the window. He thought he heard a wolf's howl in the distance, and looked at her to see if she had too, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Let me stay with you," he murmured against her skin. "Please."

Arya looked at him, and the silver in her eyes _shone_.

"What about propriety, Your Grace?" She asked after a while, curving her mouth.

"Fuck propriety," he whispered. They stood in silence for a few moments then he heard her soft laugh.

"Well then," Arya stood up, and walked to the window, closing it. "I better make sure we don't freeze to death."

Arya dropped her cloak and climbed into her bed, making space for him on her side. Jon looked at her, and tried to remember how long it had been since he had slept beside a woman. But he pushed his thoughts away when Ygritte came to mind. This was not like being with Ygritte. Not at all.

Arya held onto him and closed her eyes. Her hair brushed his neck and he pushed it aside, making her whimper and mutter a small goodnight. Jon pulled her closer and her warmth reminded him of his childhood days, when he slept with her tucked under his arm and him smiling against her hair.

 _I could still do that_ , he thought, inching closer to her if possible. She felt warmer than the furs on his bed or the fire in his hearth.

He kissed her head again, thinking of Sansa, her child, of Arya's tears, then fell asleep without knowing it, one hand clasped over hers tightly.

When he reached for her in the morning, her side of the bed was empty. Jon turned his head, and lifted it to see her smiling at him, from near the window, hair tousled from sleep, and cheeks flushed from cold.

"Good morning," she said, and came to sit near him, when he shifted to the other side and pointed to the bed. Arya rolled her eyes, and slipped back under the covers.

"Thank you," she said, ruffling his hair playfully. "I had a good sleep."

"So did I," Jon replied, and touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger.

"You should get up now," she said, grinning. "It's way too late for a King to stay in bed."

"A King can stay in bed for as long as he wants to," he argued. Arya nudged him with her elbow.

"I missed you, Arya Stark," Jon whispered, touching her cheek in an affectionate way, and she leaned against it. "I missed your laugh, your eyes, your curses. I missed everything about you."

His finger trailed a path down her jaw and Arya closed her eyes. It lingered over her neck when she stopped him with a swift hand.

"We should get up," she said. Jon pulled his hand away when someone knocked on the door, and Arya went to open it. Jon laid on his back, arms beneath his head, and watched as she spoke to whoever was outside the door, and after a while, closed it.

"They are looking for you," she said, gathering her cloak from the floor, and wearing it quickly. "There is someone at the gates asking for you."

Jon nodded and put on his furs, and Arya stood up on her toes to run her fingers through his hair.

"You're a mess, Your Grace," she said with amusement. "But we have to go now."

And she pulled him away by the arm.

"Sam!"

In a stride, he was before his friend, and they embraced like long-lost brothers. Jon smiled at Gilly afterwards and patted the babe on the head, and the little one made a small sound.

"You came back from Oldtown?" He asked, and eyed the long piece of cloth by the carriage.

"They didn't find any record of you being Lord Commander. There was no point of us staying there and I meant to take us back to Castle Black, but I heard of everything that happened on the way, and made my way to Winterfell. I think, Gilly and the babe would be more safe here than with the Night's Watch."

Jon smiled.

"It's good to have you back, Sam."

Arya was near him, standing silently. He knew she didn't enjoy talking to strangers. Jon followed her gaze to the gates, and frowned at her.

"Are you expecting someone?" He asked.

"No," she quickly denied. "No one."

Jon nodded and ordered for the gates to be closed when one of the sentries called.

"Tully banners!" He shouted.

Jon watched as three riders emerged from the distance. The middle one caught his eye, as he started recognizing the red cloak and the tall frame.

"Stop her from entering," he said, but Arya turned around to him harshly.

"No! _I_ had her brought here," she said.

"I banished that woman," Jon said. "And how do you even know her?"

Arya clenched her jaw.

"This is not about you, Jon." She turned to the Red Priestess with a venomous look, who was now on her feet, being led ahead with chains around her wrists. Arya raised her hand, as the two men brought her forward.

"She and I have unfinished business," she said.


	23. Arya VIII

Chapter XXIII: The Northern Justice

She should have looked frightened or scared or ashamed but she didn't. Even the dark cells of Winterfell could not hide her fire. Not surprisingly, the Priestess looked just the same as she had when Arya had met her a long time ago.

Arya waved the guards away as she kneeled infront of the cell, dropping her hood from her head. The Red Woman looked up at her and smiled weakly.

"I remember you," she whispered.

Arya smiled.

"Of course you do." She reached inside the bars and grabbed her face by the jaw. "Do you know why you are here?"

"I have done you no wrong," the woman replied. "I saved your brother. I brought him back to live."

"And he has given you enough reward by sparing your miserable life," Arya said, and stood up. "But it is not on his account that you're here. Ser Davos accuses you of killing Shireen Baratheon," Arya told the witch. "Do you confess to your crimes?"

"I did as my Lord told me to do. I did it for Stannis," Melisandre claimed.

Arya's jaw clenched.

"Do you accept that you killed Shireen Baratheon?" She asked again.

The Red Woman crawled further inside the cell and whispered in a broken voice,

"Yes."

"Good," Arya said. "And Brienne of Tarth accuses you of murdering Renly Baratheon with magic. Do you accept?"

Arya noticed the red necklace on her neck glow.

"Yes," Melisandre said. "I used King's blood to kill him. He was not the true King. Stannis was.

"Stannis is dead," Arya told her. "Your King was slain during battle and every single life you took was in vain."

"I saw him emerge as a Victor," Melisandre whispered. "But all of it was a lie."

Arya let out a short laugh. She wanted nothing more than to slit her throat open with her dagger, but it was not just her she had wronged. She would get her punishment the same way any criminal would get, in front of those who had been wronged by her.

"And at last, Gendry. You hurt him."

The witch looked up.

"Says he or you?"

"It doesn't matter," Arya replied. "Have you or have you not hurt him?"

After a while, she replied,

"Not as much as to be punished for it."

Arya nodded.

"No matter. Your other crimes are grave enough."

"No, matter what, you're going to convince him to kill me," Melisandre said.

"Yes," Arya replied. "Because you deserve it. And I know it was not only Renly you hoped to kill with your magic."

When no reply came, Arya couldn't stop her smile.

"Well then, Melisandre of Asshai, I accuse you of the murders of Renly and Shireen Baratheon. Tomorrow, justice shall be served. Pray to your Red God all you want, and may he help you."

Arya turned around, and called the guards.

"Arya Stark." She looked over her shoulder at the woman. She was clutching the bars of the cage and pressing her face against them. Her red hair was flowing down her torso.

"You will need me in the wars to come. Do not make a mistake you will regret.""

Arya raised an eyebrow then turned around.

"You are no better than me!" She shouted. "You are as much a murderer as I am, _Princess Stark_!"

Arya ignored her.

 _I am not like her,_ she thought.

But her words left Arya as uneasy as ever.

"You have no reason to be mad," Arya said.

"I'm not mad."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You definitely-"

"Arya!" Gendry dropped his hammer with a sigh, and looked at her tiredly. "I'm not mad at you."

Arya bit her lip and walked to him, kneeling beside him on the ground.

"Get up, you'll get dirty," Gendry told her.

"I've been dirty my entire life, stupid bull," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now tell me, what have I done?"

"Did you send everyone away from the forge?" Gendry asked, avoiding her question and looking around. Arya had told everyone to stay away from the forge in order for her to talk to Gendry alone.

"Stop it!" She said and placed her palm on his cheek, willing him to look at her. "Is it because of the Red Woman?"

Gendry tensed and pushed her hand away. Arya waited patiently for an answer.

"Why did you have to bring her here?" He asked.

 _Because she is in my list._

"I wanted her dead since the day she took you," Arya said.

"You are saying that you did it for me?"

"Yes," she said. "I know you wouldn't tell me what happened, and I wouldn't ask, but-"

"She took my blood," Gendry interrupted her.

Arya frowned.

"She needed-" he paused. "She needed a King's blood to do her magic."

"You are not a King," she said.

"No," Gendry said. "But I have King's blood in my veins. I am Robert's bastard. Robert Baratheon."

Arya shrank back, but Gendry held her hand.

"I am sorry I didn't tell you. No one knows but a few. And I didn't want- I don't want anyone to know me as his son. I am just a blacksmith as I'll always be."

Arya stood still before reaching up to move his hair away from his face.

"Your eyes," she whispered. "They're Baratheon blue."

"I guess," he mumbled. "You shouldn't have brought her here, Arya."

"I did it for you," she said.

"Even when I would have left you?" He asked.

"Yes," she confessed.

"Why?"

"Because, you are my only friend, Gendry Waters," she said, tracing patterns upon his hand. "And you would always be special no matter what you did."

"I do not deserve you," he said, and leaned closer.

"No you don't," she said. "But I'm here, aren't I?"

He didn't say anything, but instead stared at her for a few seconds before leaning in and pressing his lips on hers, gently. Arya stood stuck to her place, shocked and surprised and clueless as to what do to. Gendry pulled away, and the look of panic on his face said it all.

"Gods, Arry." He fisted his hair. "Shit, I'm so sorry."

Arya licked her lips. They were colder than before.

"No, stop!"

And she grabbed his face and pulled it back to hers, kissing him for real.

Her father had never taken her to watch a execution. He believed it wasn't meant for ladies, even though she had claimed a thousand times that she wasn't one. Arya had always considered her brothers lucky for that- that they had the right to do certain things only because they were born men and not women. It made her angry too, and jealous.

But she was there this time. Her and Sansa both, waiting patiently as Jon unmounted his horse.

"I heard he refused?" Sansa asked.

Arya nodded.

"I told him if he wouldn't do it then I'd have to do it in my own way, which is less messier but undoubtedly more scandalous."

"Women are not executed this way."

"Death knows no gender or age," Arya replied. "He comes when he comes. And today is her time."

The accused was brought forward, and pushed down by a strong hand. Jon looked at Arya, and she knew he still hesitated. But as she had hoped, Davos and Brienne had also supported her words. Jon didn't want it because she had saved his life. Arya couldn't blame him for that even if she wanted to.

Podrick moved forward and Jon unsheathed Longclaw. Their eyes met for a while, and he was still asking her silently to take her words back. Jon knew the witch deserved this, but he owed his life to her, and honour forbid him from doing it.

"Tell him to go on," Sansa whispered in Arya's ear.

Arya held up her head and nodded in Jon's direction. She swore she could hear his sigh.

The King closed his eyes and steadied his sword.

"Melisandre of Asshai," he began. "You have been accused of murder and using your magic for greater harm. In the sight of the Old Gods, I, Jon Snow, First of His Name, King in the North, sentence you to die."

"Do you have any last words?" He further added.

"No," the woman replied. She touched the ruby at her neck, and in an instant, violently grabbed and pulled the necklace away from her neck.

Before their very eyes, like the mask of a Faceless Man, the Red Priestess turned from an object of beauty to a withered, old woman, her skin sagging and full of wrinkles.

"I have lived my life," the woman said turning to Jon, who stood stuck in shock. "But remember my Lord of Light never forgets. I brought you back from the unknown and you reward me by my death. Remember what you did, Jon Snow."

As if freezing, Jon's hands wouldn't move. But not before long, the blade sharply separated her head from her torso, the blood spilling like rubies on the grass- brighter than hers ever were.

"Valar Morghulis," Arya whispered, as another name went off of her list. A name she had forgotten, but a name nonetheless.


	24. Jon IX

Chapter XXIV: The Vale

The party returned from the execution as solemnly as they had left, headed by the Starks and the King. There was no sign of the prisoner, no living trace nor any dead. Her body had been disposed of; where, Dany could not guess and neither cared. Jon offered his hand to Lady Sansa as she unmounted the horse. Dany looked at Arya Stark, but she was already on her feet, and talking to some men in Stark clothes.

Missandei handed her the keys to the dragon cages. She had not forgotten what the Stark girl had done to her Rhaegal, and for the time, she had decided not to let any one of them near her precious children. The girl had only made Rhaegal restless, however the younger Stark had completely tamed her Viserion, completely overpowered the dragon in a way she herself as a mother never could. She could not let it happen again. Her dragons were hers to command and to tame, not someone else's, and especially not the Starks'.

Dany greeted the King with a curt bow.

"Everything went well, I believe?" She asked.

"Nothing is well about executions, Your Grace," he replied. He turned briefly to his sisters and nodded, and the girls walked inside the castle arm in arm. Dany wondered for a moment how it would have been if she had grown up with siblings of her own. Viserys was her beloved brother as a child, but time had shown her his harshness and his cruelty. Most of the times he had been unkind to her, she had wept silently and tried to imagine her other brother. Rhaegar Targaryen was kind, everyone had said so, and a true Prince. She would have loved him, and he would have loved her. But her wishes had been in vain, for he had left the world before they even had a chance to lay eyes on each other.

"I believe your sisters know of our agreement?"

Jon nodded.

"I couldn't keep anything from them. They're family." A sigh left his lips as soon as those words were uttered, and Dany wanted to urge him to say more, and it seemed like he _wanted_ to say more. But none of them made a sound.

The Maester of Winterfell came running, his chain clinking.

"You're Grace," he huffed, and bowed his head towards both of them, but spoke only to Jon. "A letter from Yohn Royce from the Vale. The heir of the Vale, Lord Robin Arryn was found dead in his chambers this morrow. The Maester identified a snake bite. The Vale has now gone to Petyr Baelish as per the will Lord Robin had written days before his death."

King Jon took the scroll and read it at least twice.

"Baelish," he muttered under his breath.


	25. Arya IX

Chapter XXV: The Message from the South

With a sleepy Nymeria huddled near her feet, Arya sat with her back to Sansa's front. The red-haired sister was slowly untangling her unruly and messy hair. Arya held the Red Woman's necklace in her hand, the fading rubies heavy on her palm. She leaned back slightly against her sister and Sansa brushed through her hair with her fingers lovingly. The act was so familiar Arya had to try her hardest not to shed tears in the memory of her lady mother. She sighed softly, and the direwolf inched closer to her.

She was warm.

"You've looking at that for a while," Sansa said.

Arya faintly saw her face reflected on the red stones.

"It's not fair," she replied. "For some people to live unnaturally long when others die even before their time. Even Death is unfair."

Sansa hands paused, and Arya could hear her breathing accelerate.

"I don't think I ever said goodbye properly," her sister mumbled. "At the time, I was so excited and happy to go to the capital and get married to Joffrey, I don't think I said what I needed to to Robb and Mother and Bran and Rickon. And you," Sansa wrapped her arms softly around her. "I hated you so much without reason. I feel nothing but ashamed of my actions."

Arya turned around and held Sansa's hands, wiping the tears off her cheek.

"Come on now, you know I'm not good with crying."

Sansa laughed softly.

"The Maester told me I'd get more emotional in the coming months. Maybe it's already starting."

Arya rolled her eyes but offered a warm smile. She turned around and Sansa continued working with her hair, while Arya put away the necklace and just leaned back into Sansa's lap.

"Arya?"

"Hmm?"

"You and the blacksmith. Are you lovers?"

Arya choked. The act made Nymeria jolt awake and the wolf let out a whine at her mistress interruption her sleep. Arya mussed her fur.

"Who told you that?" She asked in barely a whisper.

"He keeps staring at you and you disappear during the day for hours, so I guessed maybe- Are you?"

Arya kept silent. It was hard to describe her and Gendry. They had kissed more than once, and she knew that she liked it, but he wasn't her lover. He was- Gendry and her best friend and she loved him. But love was too _intimate_ , and love was not something she wanted to be associated with.

"You know he's still a blacksmith, right? And you're a Princess."

Arya frowned.

"Does it matter so much?"

"His status will never let him be with you. You should know that."

Arya sighed. Sansa would always be Sansa.

"It doesn't matter, Sansa. I am not going to marry him, or _anyone_." She rose up and headed towards the door. She could use some sword practicing. She reached out for the door and stopped.

"And Sansa," she smiled without looking at her. "I guess you don't know but his father was Robert Baratheon."

After her third defeat against the Hound, Arya finally raised her arms and backed away. The Hound smirked.

"I'm still twice your size, wolf girl."

"Shut up, Clegane." She snatched the wineskin from his hand and drank it up, only to cough it all out.

Sandor laughed like a maniac.

"I hate beer," she muttered, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"Then why'd you drink it?"

"I felt like it."

"Bitch."

"What did you say, _dog_?"

"Your smart mouth is still the same, ain't it?"

"And _your_ ugly face is no better."

He snorted.

"Why do you even try? You can't fight with a sword with that figure of yours."

"Daggers aren't the best weapons in an open field. And Needle can't pierce through armour."

"Then we should continue until you give up." He picked up his longsword.

"You're a shit teacher, Hound."

"Stop talking and fight, wolf bitch."

Arya smirked.

Night had almost fallen.

A shiver ran up her spine when she stood beside the weirwood tree and she could swear she heard the face whispering in her ear. The leaves rustled in the cold wind and Arya flushed. It was getting colder, and colder. Winter was here, but she could only guess how harsh this winter would be.

Her hand was clasped almost forcefully.

"You put yourself in danger."

Arya turned around.

"Why? You're my friend. I can meet you anytime I want. It's you who is making a fuss about it."

"Im not- You don't understand, milady."

"Then make me understand," she challenged.

Gendry sat down on the snow with a sigh.

"I thought this wasn't supposed to happen more than once," he whispered.

Arya bit her lip.

"What? Me kissing you?"

He groaned.

"Don't say it out loud."

Arya laughed.

"There's no one here, silly bull." She touched his hair. It was sweaty. "And don't jump to conclusions. I'm not here to kiss you."

"Then why are you here, _Princess_?" He asked sarcastically and received a punch in the shoulder.

"I told you, idiot. You're my only friend here."

Gendry looked up at her. It was getting darker and she couldn't make out his features properly, but she didn't really need to. She had memorized his face long ago.

Arya held his face and leaned down, kissing him full on the mouth.

She hadn't lied, she wasn't _in love_. She loved Gendry with all her heart, almost as much as she loved her family, but she still wouldn't accept that she loved him in a way a man loved a woman.

No. She loved him how she would love a best friend, how she would love someone who was precious to her and she wanted to keep by her side, always. And kissing was just a part of it. It didn't mean anything more, and besides, Gendry never loved her in that way either. It's just that kissing him had felt better than she'd expected, and there was no harm in feeling good, was there?

Gendry held her waist and pulled her down, until her knees hit the ground. His lips were rough and moved with more experience than her. Gendry's hands tightened around her waist, and he pulled her closer, making her knees bump against his legs. She felt his lips stray from hers and move to her cheeks, then her jaw and then-

She pulled back.

Gendry's face was flushed and he breathed like he was out of air.

"Arya," he whispered, bringing his face close to hers again. "Arya, why would you-"

"Princess Arya-"

They both turned around to see Podrick running towards them. The squire stopped in his tracks and looked between both of them. Arya moved away from Gendry, and he pulled his arm back from around her waist.

" _This_ is why I was worried, milady," he said, and stood up. Arya wanted to stop him, but thought better of it as he walked away, without looking at her or Podrick.

Arya walked towards Podrick, brushing snow off her cloak.

"Don't mention a word of this to anyone," she said. "Especially not to Jon."

Podrick nodded

"Why were you calling me?"

"King Jon asked for you," he replied. His voice was small, perhaps because he was still nervous.

Arya nodded and walked passed him. She did not know Podrick but she was sure he wouldn't dare to tell anyone when she told him not to. He looked rather scared of her at times, and that would definitely work for her.

The only person she was worried about was Gendry. After this, she doubted he would give in to anything she said ever again.

Only Sansa, Bran and Jon were in the solar. The latter was standing by the fire, leaning against the wall.

"What happened?" Arya asked, removing her cloak. The fire was too warm for her.

"I received a raven an hour ago. From Cersei Lannister."

Arya clenched her first.

"It was for Daenerys," Jon continued. "The Lannisters have formed an alliance with The Greyjoy through an impending marriage between Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy. She threatened Daenerys and told her to surrender her army."

Jon sat down.

"So we have decided that Daenerys and I will marry within the week and then she will leave for Dragonstone and march towards King's Landing."

"Will we aid her in the battle?" Sansa asked.

Jon shook his head.

"She has enough men."

"It is for the best, Jon," Bran said, calmly. "The quicker this war ends, the other war begins. Winter is here, and we are not safe anymore. It won't be long until the dead march South. We need to be ready."

Bran's eyes were wiser, and she heard fear in his voice. These monsters they spoke of, she'd never laid eyes on them. The only enemy she had right now was Cersei Lannister, but it made her uneasy to think there was an army of the dead not far North.

"The Wall will hold them back," she stated.

"Only for a matter of time," Bran replied. "I've seen. Their numbers grow and so does their strength. We have to end this before it becomes too much for us to take. Marry her, Jon. Let her take the Iron Throne. We need her dragons. The Throne only matters as long as there are people alive to sit on it."

Jon looked grim. Judging from his face, Arya guessed he had not slept well for days. He looked tired.

 _Maybe being King is too much for him._

She held his gaze just for a while.

"A wedding would be nice," she said.

"I'll start making preparations, then," Sansa said, smiling. She had enjoyed such things since her childhood, and a wedding was more than enough to make her happy.

The last ones in the solar were her and Jon.

"You don't look very happy," Arya said.

Jon took her hand in his.

"I'm just tired."

Arya wrapped her arms around him. For a moment, her chest tightened. Jon's face was buried in her hair, and he whispered her name.

"I missed you," she said.

Jon had been so busy that they had not even properly talked since three days. Of course, she had been busy practising, and with Sansa but Jon's place in her life was not something such trivial things could fill.

"I've missed you too, my little wolf." The endearment made her heart thump. He hadn't called her that in days.

Jon pulled away.

"Were you out in the snow?" Jon asked. His thumbs traced her cheeks softly.

Arya nodded.

"You'll get sick, little one." He smiled.

"The weather suits me," she argued.

Jon nodded. "Of course, my Princess of Winter."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"My she-wolf," he whispered again. "How do you make me happier instantly?"

"Don't be such a bard, Jon. You're too easy to please."

He laughed aloud, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Warmth rushed through her entire body.

"Tomorrow, spend your day with me," he said. "I have things to tell you."

"I have to practice with Sandor."

"The rest of the day, then."

She was surprised he didn't argue about Sandor being her teacher. He wasn't very fond of the Hound, even though he had accepted him as one of Winterfell's own.

Arya nodded. She had never in her entire life loved anyone more than she loved Jon, not even her father, and she'd hate for them to grow apart now.

"Tomorrow, then," she agreed.


	26. Cersei II

Chapter XXVI: The Hellhorn

It had been decades since Cersei had seen the seal of the three-headed dragon on a scroll. She briefly remembered the last Targaryen she had known, when she was a girl. Rhaegar, the most handsome and gallant man she had ever known, his long silver hair and heavenly eyes. If only she'd married him. If only the Mad King had let her.

 _Cersei Lannister, it_ read.

She crumpled the paper and threw it away.

"War it is then," she whispered.

She had expected no less, of course. She didn't know this Daenerys Targaryen, but she knew her own brother. Tyrion would never let Cersei win without a war. He who spilled his own father's blood, her beloved Joffrey's blood, he would never let anyone bow down to her so easily. To think a man like him, who should've never been born, would become one of her enemies. She should've strangled him in his sleep as a babe, or maybe ask her father to do it. She knew he had hated him too.

"Your Grace," Quburn whispered close to her ear. "It's Euron Greyjoy."

The doors of the Throne room were pulled open and the Greyjoy entered with a smirk on his face. Cersei would have had him thrown in the black cells for trying to be so smug in front of her. But she needed allies now more than ever, and if Euron could be valuable, she could control herself.

"My Queen," he bowed. "You look as beautiful as ever."

Cersei almost laughed. Men like him didn't deserve to even stand before her.

"What do you want, Lord Euron?"

"I've brought you a gift, my fair Queen."

He signalled with his gloved hand and a couple of men came inside the room carrying a huge chest.

 _Fool_ , she thought. _You try to win me with gold._

Euron bid his men away, and making a small curtsey, lifted the lid.

"Here you are, My Queen. Since you have rejected my proposal so clearly, I've no other wish than to make you see how much I am willing to do for you. I believe this act of kindness will change your mind about me."

There was no gold.

Inside the chest was a horn the height of a full-grown man. It had bands of red gold and shone in a black hue. There were markings on the horn, but not of any languages she knew.

"And what is that?"

"This my Queen, is Dragonbinder. A dragon horn."

Cersei rose from her seat and walked forward to see it. The horn was exquisite, beautiful and shone brightly.

"And what does it do?"

Euron smiled wickedly.

"Controls dragons, my Queen."

Cersei's eyes glinted. She touched it with her hand and felt its warmth.

"I've never heard of such a thing," she said. For all she knew, he could be trying to fool her.

"I have travelled to the ruins of Valyria to search for this. This very horn, forged with Valyrian Steel before the Doom, can bend a dragon to man's will. And soon enough, this very weapon will defeat your enemy for you."

Cersei turned to Qyburn.

"I have read of this, Your Grace, and it sure looks like Valyrian Steel."

"If you do not believe me, my Queen," Euron blurted out. "Let your blacksmiths have a go at it. You know that common fire cannot melt Valyrian Steel."

Cersei turned to Qyburn again.

"I'll see to it, Your Grace."

 _This,_ she thought. _This is what I need. What I need to defeat Daenerys Targaryen once and for all._

"I want to thank you for your service to the Crown, Lord Euron. You have been very helpful to your Queen. How shall I reward you, My Lord?"

The bastard had a sly grin on his face.

"You very well know what I dearly wish for, My _Queen."_

Cersei gave him her sweetest smile.


	27. Jon X

Chapter XXVII: The Great Glory

The nights had been hard for Jon.

Ravens arrived from the Wall simultaneously, notifying him of rangers disappearing and Castle Black turning into a nightmare because of the cold. It wouldn't be long before the dead march onto the Wall, and the current forces wouldn't be able to hold them off.

His dreams were haunted by visions of Hardhome, of wars he had fought and was yet to fight in. The ice cold eyes of the Nights King, colder than the ice beneath his feet. As days passed, he knew that the enemy inched closer to the Wall, and that he needed to do something before all the Seven Hells broke loose in the North.

Dany had invited him to see her dragons, this time alone. She didn't want any complications, and as far as Jon could see, the only Stark in Winterfell she liked was Sansa. She kept a distance from Bran in anger, and she and Arya never shared company for more than five minutes, probably in the best interest of both parties.

The day of the wedding drew near, and Sansa was happily and hurriedly taking care of everything. It suited her; to be a Lady and run the household. She was the one who made him remember the old times when it was Catelyn Stark running Winterfell, even though some of the memories weren't pleasant. But Jon was grateful to Sansa for everything, since he needed someone to handle the castle while most of them were busy preparing for war. Tyrion and Dany barely left each other's presence, spending the entirety of the day discussing battle plans and strategies. Bran spent his time near the Heart Tree, keeping an eye on events beyond physical reach. Arya spent most of her time with Bran too, although Jon didn't know what they whispered about. She and Bran shared a strange connection, perhaps because both of them had accepted being wargs and were utilizing their abilities. Arya once mentioned Bran warging several of her wolves at once. She said he was practicing; for warging a much bigger creature than a wolf. Jon had urged her to drop the idea after what had happened last time, but she convinced him it would bring no harm. She claimed it was necessary for them to win the war. That Bran must _fly_ , no matter what the consequences.

Sam had of course returned with his own set of information, most of which included Valyrian Steel defeating the White Walkers. They didn't have dragonglass, and had to do with the steel, and fortunately for them, Sam had also read how to forge Valyrian Steel, without any blacksmith from Qohor.

Dany's dragons were chained, one of the reasons why she was eager to leave Winterfell. Jon could understand. He'd never be able to keep Ghost locked in a cage for too long.

The biggest one, Drogon, was being caressed by his mother when Jon arrived. The beasts still frightened him, but Dany was near, and that made him relax.

"Step forward slowly."

He did.

 _All for nothing_ , he thought.

All of his wishes since childhood to become worthy of the Stark name, to become someone more than Ned Stark's bastard born out of dishonor. To become worthy of being called Robb's brother, of being called Arya's favourite, without everyone else around him constantly reminding him of his status. And now he was here, finding out he was a _dragon_.

He was never one of them after all. He was always an outcast. As a Snow, at least he thought he had the blood of Ned, but even that wasn't true.

The dragon growled.

He may be a Targaryen, a son of Rhaegar and born of Kings, but Jon Snow had never wanted any of that. All he wanted was to be called Winterfell's own, and now, he realized, he finally was someone wanted in the North.

But even that was lie. The Northerners didn't crown a Targaryen as the King in the North, they crowned Ned's son. Which he wasn't, and which was sadder than everything else.

 _I don't belong on either side. I'm not a true Stark, neither a true Targaryen._

He shrank back suddenly when Rhaegal hissed dangerously close.

"Give me your hand," Dany said and offered hers.

Jon took it reluctantly. Her hand was soft and warm, and fit perfectly in his.

Jon's shook as she took it gently and steadily near the dragon's snout. Jon tried taking it back but Dany shook her head, and placed his hand on Rhaegal's scaled head.

"They know you," she told Jon. "Dragons only submit to our family, have been for centuries. If you were anything else than a Targaryen, your hand would've been charred by now."

Jon pulled his hand back.

"Do not worry, King Jon. I do not wish for my betrothed to be burned days before the wedding."

Dany smiled, and Jon saw how beautiful she was. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and soon she'd be his wife. Most men would call him the luckiest bastard in the Seven Kingdoms.

Dany's hand reached his and he froze. The Queen ran her palm gently up his arm, watching his eyes with every movement. Jon felt his heart thump. Her hand reached his neck and he knew what would happen next.

He didn't reject her advances, and instead leaned down and let her kiss him softly. Her lips were soft, softer than Ygritte's had been, or any other woman he'd kissed as a boy..

Dany opened her lips as an invitation, and he tasted her with his tongue. Sweet and sweet and sweet. It was all too different and unfamiliar, but she was certainly a woman who knew how to kiss a man perfectly. He could drown in such a kiss.

He could, but he didn't want to.

He pulled pack slowly, noticing the redness spread across her pale cheeks. Her smile was radiating and blinding.

 _I can love her,_ he thought. _I can_.

A drop of blood tricked down his finger as he stood in front of his mother's statue, a blue, frosty crown of winter roses in his hand.

Jon placed the crown down on Lyanna's hands. His visits to the crypts had been frequent now that he knew about his true parentage. After all, his mother whose love he missed all his life, whose face he'd have killed to see, had always been right under his nose. His beautiful mother, who was now nothing but stone.

Love is the death of duty, Maester Aemon used to say.

Was it so important to love each other, that his parents had decided to forsake everything? Their families, their honor, their dignity. Was Rhaegar so mad in love that he didn't think of his own wife, didn't think of his children waiting for their father; of his reputation as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Was Lyanna so lovestruck she couldn't forsake her silver Prince for her own blood and family? For Ned or Benjen or Brandon or her father?

Was love such a curse?

"Jon."

He didn't turn, but took her hand as soon as he felt her near him.

Arya dropped her head on his shoulder.

"Do you need to come here every day?"

Jon stared at her.

Arya inched closer.

"I don't like it when you're sad, stupid."

Jon pulled her closer to his side. She was warm and comforting, like the warm, sunny days in Winterfell that were no longer. He had been with Lord Stark when he had first brought little Arya to watch the crypts. Jon remembered that none of the Stark children had been as excited to see such a cold, dark and grey place. She had always been different.

And Arya. His little and precious Arya, was the only one who truly loved him. Loved him when he deserved it and when he didn't.

And for that he loved her too, so much that sometimes he had the urge to lock her up and not let others even near her, in fear of losing her again. His heart couldn't bear it if he were not to look at her daily, to remind herself she was safe and home. With him.

"Did you see Daenerys today?"

He nodded.

"And her dragons?"

"I did."

Arya hummed.

"Bran says you're to ride one of her dragons," Arya said. "You must."

Jon shook his head.

"Bran wants too much of me. Besides, she wouldn't let me."

Arya turned to look at him. Her eyes shone like molten silver.

"I have seen what haunts you. Bran showed me. I can only imagine what you must have gone through while fighting them. The Targaryen dragon has three heads, and you are the second."

Jon brushed her cheek softly.

"You've been listening to Bran too much. Besides, I'm a Targaryen bastard. I'm not a trueborn."

Her eyes flashed.

"You are a Stark and a Targaryen. _Fuck_ being a trueborn." She took a deep breath, then continued, "After everything Bran has showed me and told me, I have full faith in what he says. Believe me, Jon, he knows everything there is to know and he says that you must ride Rhaegal into battle. Only the three heads of the dragon can defeat the enemy."

"Then it makes two if I do ride. What about the third?"

" _Bran will fly_ ," she simply whispered, and moved more into the light of the torch.

"So I'm now a Targaryen to you? Not a Stark or a Snow?"

He meant it as a little jape, but instantly regretted his words when Arya's lip quivered and the shine in her eyes dimmed.

"If it's any better, I never wanted to be a Targaryen," he said.

Arya smiled.

"It doesn't really matter, I think. We'll all have to fight the dead whatever way we can," she said.

"We?"

Arya quirked her brow.

"Like I'm letting you go out there in so much danger."

"Like I'm letting you stop me."

Jon laughed, and took her face in his hands.

"I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"And you won't," she promised him. "I am not a little helpless girl anymore, Jon."

His smile faded. Of course, she wasn't. She didn't act like old Arya. She didn't look like her. He had bid farewell to a little rebel always running with excitement and happiness, and years later, got back a lethal and deadly woman calm as the sea and harsh as winter.

Jon turned to his mother's statue. The blue crown lay on her hand, and he reached out. He took out a single rose and brought it to Arya, tucking it behind her ear, and let her hair fall loose

Arya looked up at him in surprise, but he only smiled. She looked just like the statue. No, she looked prettier, and she was alive and breathing.

"You look beautiful," he whispered. Blue suited her. "And they are your favourite, if I remember correctly."

"They are," she agreed. He wondered if his mother looked like Arya when Rhaegar gave her the crown of winter roses.

He reached out to touch her face, and leaned in close to her.

Perhaps this was what drove Rhaegar to war. This overwhelming love Jon currently felt for the woman infront of him. Arya, whose love he didn't deserve and never would in a thousand years.

 _Even if our love is different._

His breath was fanning her face, and Arya closed her eyes with an exhale.

Jon felt a sudden urge, and his body moved automatically and he kissed her on the corner of her lips. One of his hands moved to her hair and he touched the rose, and the soft petals fell of her hair, landing over his arm and the ground. Jon blinked and drew back.

Arya opened her eyes, eyelashes fluttering, and ran her tongue over her lips.

"Perhaps we should-"

"Yes," he interrupted her. He placed a kiss on her hair with quivering lips, and walked right past her without another word.

 _Even if our love is different. Even if our love is different. It is different._

Love is our great glory, Maester Aemon had told him.

 _Our great glory, and our great tragedy._


	28. Arya X

Chapter XXVIII: The Song of Ice and Fire

"Sans-"

"No, Arya! You are _not_ saying one more thing and you're doing what I'm telling you to do!"

"Sans-"

Sansa pressed her palm against her lips, and Arya slapped it away.

"Fine. But for one hour."

"Four."

"Two."

" _Three_ , Arya. And don't you dare argue with me. It's Jon's happy. Couldn't you do this for him?"

Arya laughed inwardly. _This_? She could do anything for Jon. Everything. But that wasn't what mattered here. Wearing a bloody dress wasn't something she was excited for. She didn't look forward to it at all, even if it was for Jon's wedding. If she could, she'd rather the entire ceremony finish without her presence. Of course she wanted to see Jon happy. But was he?

She had been noticing Daenerys' eyes linger on Jon, her hand taking the slightest chance to touch him. But Jon? He was doing this for duty. Not for love.

Arya wouldn't lie to herself. She knew all too well that her heart will never warm towards the Dragon Queen. Jon marrying her would make no difference.

A fear in her heart kept growing and her chest kept tightening. Jon marrying a woman, taking a wife, would mean he was hers no longer. Of course, he wasn't someone she had ownership over, but there was this string that bound them together since birth, even through all the years of separation and a thousand leagues between them. Was it jealousy she felt? She didn't know. She just didn't want Jon to marry Daenerys for some reason. But she wasn't the one to make choices for him, and no matter how much it hurt, Jon was going to be someone else's tonight, and that string that bound them would snap, and Arya hoped and prayed her heart was strong enough to take it.

"Arya?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her sister staring worriedly at her. Arya stifled a smile.

"I'll do whatever you say, Sansa."

Her sister's eyes went wide with surprised, but then she laughed softly.

"Sometimes you scare me," she said.

When Arya raised her brows in confusion, Sansa went on.

"I know nothing about you. I know it is hard to talk about certain things, but I wish you'd tell me. I would feel... maybe it would give me the courage to tell you too."

Arya only smiled. She was so horrible at such things. Listening and comforting. She always had been. But maybe she could try. For her sister; for herself. Maybe it was time to let go of her secrets.

For good.

The House of Black and White had taught her many things, one of which was how to hide quite a number of weapons under a dress. Of course, Braavosi dresses were far more comfortable than this stupid, big one she was wearing: grey and long.

Sansa had a very strong will, it seemed. She waited in her room while she put on her dress and spent the next several minutes doing Arya's hair, which was so tangled and messy that Arya had to bite her lip when Sansa pulled her hair apart. Sansa did this without a word, however. Shortly before, she had seen Arya hide almost half a dozen daggers in her dress. She hadn't asked a question however, still Arya could see that the Lady in her was very displeased with the thought of her being armed. But Sansa hadn't argued.

 _She is trying._

 _"Don't worry,_ I'm not going to put anyone in danger," Arya said. "It's just precaution."

Sansa let out a sigh.

"I know," she said.

"I did not mean to worry you, Sansa. It's just a habit. I cannot be unarmed."

"It's fine, Arya." Sansa finished doing her hair and stood up. "I must get ready too."

"You always look great." She wasn't lying. Sansa looked beautiful all the time.

Surprised, her sister let out a short laugh.

"I'm not used to you being nice with me."

"If you can try, so can I."

Both of them grinned at each other, and Sansa left with a wave of her hand, reminding Arya that she had to go meet Jon in an hour, and make sure he was ready.

Arya nodded.

On her way to Jon's room, Arya was pushing and pulling her dress under her cloak in irritation when she nearly bumped into Davos.

"My Princess," he bowed.

Arya smiled warmly. She had grown to be very fond of the man, and with time had come to realize that he was one of the few people who understood Jon almost as much as she did.

"I'm sorry, Ser Davos."

He nodded and eyed her with amusement.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Every fucking thing," Arya muttered under her breath.

"Noble ladies shouldn't speak like that."

Arya rolled her eyes. She knew he was messing with her.

"And they shouldn't roll their eye-"

"Alright!" Arya shouted. She pushed him aside with an arm and walked past, and Davos' laughter loomed behind her.

"Is he inside?" She asked, her hand on the doorknob.

The old man nodded.

"He's waiting for you."

Arya knocked once before entering.

Jon was facing away from her. His cloak had no sigil on the back, as did every groom's. Sansa had made him one that had the Stark direwolf emblazoned on it, but he had refused.

"You should've wore it," she said. "Sansa made it with love."

Jon turned. At that moment, Jon looked so much like her father, and at the same time, nothing like him. He looked like him, yes, but there was something in Jon's eyes that she as a child, had seldom seen in Ned Stark.

Sadness. Something that never seemed to leave Jon.

"Won't you smile?" She said, tilting her head.

"For what?"

"It's your wedding, idiot." Arya walked closer to him.

Jon smiled.

"Not for the wedding," he told her, kissing her head when she went up on her toes. "For you."

Arya wanted to cry. For no reason at all. She buried her face in his chest, and listened to his heartbeat, fast but calm.

"Remember when he were little," he said, caressing her hair. "We made a pact that we'd marry each other when we'd grow up."

Arya nodded against him.

"I used to think of you as a hero from Old Nan's stories. Everyone kept saying I was stupid when I told them I was going to marry you." She chuckled. "Sansa was so horrified she ran to tell Septa Mordane."

They both laughed, and Jon lightly pecked her cheeks.

"You look like a Lady," he whispered. He kissed her again, and again. "A pretty Lady from the songs."

Arya scrunched up her face in disgust. Jon kissed the crease on her brow, and she sighed softly.

"I'm here to see if you're ready."

"Sansa told me." His face was inches from her. Arya traced the scar on his face, and felt him shiver.

Jon kissed her fingers, all of them, one by one.

She felt like her heart was breaking.

"Tell me," he mumbled under his breath. "I'll always be your hero and your knight. Why- why do I feel like I'd lose you the moment I marry her?"

"You'd never," Arya promised with conviction. "I'll be your shadow and your guide. I'll always be yours. Only yours, Jon. Like we promised each other as children."

Jon fervently pressed kissed on her cheeks, on her forehead; all over her face. And finally, kissed her on the lips.

It was a brother's kiss, she told herself.

Even as her eyes burned when Davos led Jon into the Godswood.

Even as Daenerys walked out looking like a true Queen but Jon turned his eyes to look at her.

Even as a single tear rolled down her cheek as they said their vows.

Arya wiped it away with the back of her hand. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gendry. He looked worried and was two seconds away from rushing towards her, but she shook her head. She didn't need Gendry now. Not now.

"Arya?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and choked back a tear. It was Sansa, looking just as worried as Gendry.

"What is it?" She asked impatiently.

"It's nothing," Arya said. Her voice refused to break.

"Did something happen? With Jon? Did you argue?"

"No!" Her voice rose more than she'd have liked it to. "I'm just tired. I don't feel well."

Sansa scrutinized her face. She turned briefly to Jon, who was now making his way out of the Godswood with Daenerys. He suddenly turned, and met her eyes and Sansa's both, and Arya could see some sort of realisation hit her sister.

"You two-" she said. "What is wrong?"

Arya said nothing. Being at a loss for words was not something Arya-like. She was surprised as much as Sansa was.

"If you won't like to attend the feast-"

"Please!" Arya interrupted her.

"Oh Arya!" Sansa enveloped her in a hug, like the ones her mother used to give her. Both the sisters clung to each other, and Sansa murmured questions to her, most of which Arya herself didn't know the answers to.

Why was she crying? Why did it feel like her heart was ripped apart? Was it normal to feel so heartbroken when your brother weds someone?

She knew she wouldn't feel like this if it was Robb or Bran or Rickon instead of Jon.

"If you wouldn't like to be alone, you can sleep in my room tonight," Sansa offered.

Arya nodded.

That night, in almost seven years, Arya slept with someone warm. Both of them feel asleep in their dresses, not caring if they got spoiled. But not before all of her secrets, from the moment she left Syrio in King's Landing to when she set foot on the boat back to Westeros, spilled out of her mouth. Sansa hugged her, without judging for the first time in her life and cried tears at her tales, tears which Arya herself had never shed. Was it easier to cry, she wondered. Perhaps it was one of her weaknesses.

She listened to Sansa too, and held her hand, when she spoke of Joffrey and Ramsay. Arya was bad at comforting, but she tried her best.

That day she realized for the first time in her life, what it felt like to have a sister, and wished that they both would've realized it sooner. Life would have been easier, and happier, had they acted like family instead of strangers.


	29. Sansa III

Chapter XXIX: The Plan

"I'm going to kill the Queen."

That was what her sister said, eyes cold and vengeful.

"I'm going to kill Cersei Lannister."

The days after the wedding had went fast, and before long Daenerys and her Unsullied, along with Lord Tyrion, were to start marching for King's Landing, to take the Iron Throne from the Lannisters.

Jon had gracefully offered his men, but she had declined. Daenerys had more confidence in her Unsullied. She wanted to win this war alone. _Herself_.

Daenerys was proud. Prouder than Jon could possibly ever be. Sansa recognized it. She remembered seeing it in Cersei's eyes, and while Daenerys wasn't full of the evil that Cersei was Sansa hadn't failed to notice that her obsession with the Iron Throne was at par with the Lannister's.

Jon was King now, or he would be- of the Seven Kingdoms. There was no way Cersei would win, not with Daenerys' Unsullied and her dragons. Cersei held only King's Landing, and the Westerlands. But Jaime Lannister or the Mountain or any man was no match for a dragon. Cersei might as well have surrendered to Daenerys, but Sansa knew her better than that.

The party were to leave at dusk, and in the afternoon, Sansa found herself being pulled into Arya's room quite forcefully, and as her sister closed the door, she was face to face with Gendry Waters. The man was as surprised as her to be there, and bowed to Sansa as soon as she entered. Sansa didn't fail to notice the look that passed between him and Arya. He was telling her that he wasn't comfortable with Sansa there.

"I'm going to kill Cersei Lannister," Arya said.

Sansa looked at Gendry, the man she had no doubt was in love with her sister. It was evident. She knew a lovestruck man when she saw one. And Gendry had tried his best to hide it, Sansa would give him that, but it didn't work.

"It's too dangerous," he said.

He was worried. Sansa was too. But she knew when it was useless to argue with Arya, and this was the time. The look of determination on her sister's face was enough to convince her that no amount of persuasion or coercion would change her sister's mind. When it came to revenge, she wouldn't listen to anyone.

"I want to finish my list," she said. Sansa turned to Gendry again, and found nothing but worry in his face. He knew. About her list.

"She has to answer for her crimes." Arya's eyes were burning.

"When the Queen takes her hostage, she will," Gendry said.

"She needs to answer to a _Stark._ " Arya said the last word with her head held high. "This is the last name on my list. The Mountain will die by Daenerys' hands. I do not care. But Cersei, Cersei is mine."

Sansa walked from her chair and took Arya's hand.

Cold and rough. That was what her sister felt like. What Winter had turned her into. Their father would never have let this happen to her. Arya was Ned Stark's favourite. Everyone knew it, even if it pained Sansa to say so.

Their father would have protected all of them. Her mother, Robb, Rickon, Winterfell. And he would have been alive, if not for Cersei.

"I want you to come home safe," she said.

"I will," Arya promised. "I will leave tonight, after Daenerys does. I want you to keep Jon busy. Only for a few hours. I'd be long gone by then."

Sansa nodded.

"Arya."

It was Gendry. He looked miserable. Arya looked at him, and Sansa suddenly felt like an intruder. Maybe Gendry couldn't say what he wanted to say because of her presence? His eyes were on hers too, and she could see. That look her parents used to give each other- Gendry looked at Arya the same.

Sansa felt a sharp pain in her chest.

It wasn't envy.

It was pity. For herself.

The more beautiful sister, they had called her. Her beauty meant nothing but leverage for her enemies, and she was all but a tool to be used.

Arya wasn't as beautiful as her. Arya wasn't as ladylike. But Arya was loved.

"Arya, don't do this," the man said again, almost begging.

"I will be fine, I promise," she said.

Gendry looked unsure, but he said nothing.

They were gone. The Queen, her dragons and her army.

Sansa walked through the hallways and before long, was out in the stables. The cold bit her face, and her teeth clattered, but she walked on, until she was infront of Arya. She heard a shadowcat howl in the distance, and it made her wary of Arya leaving at such an hour. The night has always been terrifying for men in the North, with wild creatures from shadowcats to wolves roaming in the wilderness.

A whimper brought her attention to the ground, and Sansa sighed in relief at seeing Nymeria. Of course, her sister was safe.

Arya had worn a rather large cloak that hid half of her face, and made it hard to recognize her. Needle was at her hip, and only Gods knew how many weapons underneath her clothes.

"Take food with you."

"I have coin," Arya said. "I'll buy at an inn."

"What if there are no inns?"

Arya sighed, and smiled softly.

"Then I'll call Nymeria and she'll hunt for me. Do not worry, Sansa, I'm used to travelling alone."

She had saddled her horse, then Arya's eyes went towards the smithy to their far right.

"He isn't here?" Sansa asked.

"He is not happy," Arya said. "He'll come around."

"I hope so." Sansa placed a kiss on her sister's cheek. "He loves you."

Arya only nodded. She didn't say that she did too.

"Stay saf-"

"You're not going anywhere."

Both of them turned abruptly to the voice. Sansa felt her blood run cold.

It was Jon. And Gendry.

Arya howled in rage, and got on her horse to leave.

"The gates are closed, Arya. It's no use."

Sansa could swear she had never heard Jon's voice so full of anger. He was seething. But so was Arya.

She ran towards them.

"You fucking traitor!" She screamed at Gendry, and punched him in the face. Sansa let out a horrified gasp, and it was Jon who pulled Arya off the man, but she started pushing him away too. Jon held her forcefully, but Arya kept resisting.

"Let me go!"

"To your death? No!" Jon roared.

"You are no one to stop me!"

Those words hurt him, she could see. But Jon wasn't letting go. Sansa begged him too, but one look from him, and she knew that he was more than outraged at her too, and she took a step back.

"How long do you think you can keep me like this?" Arya snapped.

Jon hoisted her up on his shoulder, all the while Arya was screaming and hitting him.

The next thing she knew he had pushed her inside his chamber, and locked the door behind them.

Gendry walked beside her.

"Why?" She asked.

"I'm sorry, M'lady," he said. Arya had bloodied his nose. "But this is better than her getting hurt."

Sansa heard their heated argument from outside.

And she felt guilt overcome her.


	30. Arya XI

Chapter XXX: The Wise and The Fools

It was useless.

Jon was stronger, and bigger. She could pull a dagger on him, but she didn't hate him that much. She didn't hate him at all, not really. But she was angry. Gods, she was _so_ angry she could punch him bloody. Him and Gendry both. The stupid bull-headed idiot had ruined everything. She was now trapped in Jon's room, when she should've been riding to King's Landing.

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice although low, was biting.

"I could ask you the same."

He took a step forward, and his eyes didn't soften a bit.

"Don't play games with me."

"Don't use that voice with me. I'm not scared of you."

Jon ran his hand through his hair, obviously frustrated.

She wanted to see her sister. Arya couldn't believe she actually preferred Sansa's company over Jon's for once.

"Do I need to lock you inside a fucking tower, Arya, for you to actually listen to me and not run away every chance you get?"

"Don't be stupid!" Her blood was reaching her neck. Their voices were high enough that she feared the entire castle would hear them. "I wasn't running away! I was only-"

"Doing this for revenge, Arya? Is it so important to you?" Jon sounded tired now, and disappointed. It made Arya angrier.

"You didn't see them die. I did. I saw Father being held down like a cow to be butchered. I saw Robb's mutilated body. The hell do you know about anything! What they did to Father..." She felt herself shaking when the pictures invaded her memory. She felt like a little, helpless girl like she was then. Yoren protecting her, then the Hound. Maybe they shouldn't have. At least she wouldn't have lived to regret it.

Jon pulled her to him, and Arya struggled. Her eyes burned.

"If only I was brave enough." She was sobbing now. It was useless to even try and stop her tears, not when Jon was looking at her with so much sadness and pain, and for a second she could see Robb in him, and Ned Stark.

"You were eleven. How could you have stopped them?" His voice was so kind, and soothing, that she wanted to be angry at him and shout at him and shove him, and yet she didn't. She wasn't a Wolf then, or a Faceless Man. She was just Arya Stark, Ned's little girl, Robb's reckless sister and her mother's headstrong daughter. She didn't want to be, not now of all times, but she was.

Jon hushed her, like older times, like she'd just had a horrible dream and she had ran to him for respite. When was the last time she had cried like this?

With Jon, everything was so much easier, and so much harder at the same time. He had always been home, in some way or another. Being her bastard half-brother, now her cousin and her King. And looking at him always took her back to the Winterfell where she grew up, and it was a blessing less than it was a curse. She looked at him, and she realized she could never forget _her_ Winterfell as long as she had Jon, and at times it was worse than anything at all. It was the little girl in her that had never died, and never will, and kept acting like a weak child _everytime_ her family crossed her memory.

"You would never understand," she said, pulling back, running the back of her cold hands against her tear-chained cheeks. She was slowly getting the picture of Father and Robb and Mother out of her head, and her breathing kept getting even as she did, but slower than she'd have liked it to.

"I understand more than you think."

"You don't!"

Jon's hand reached for her own, and he brought it to his lips.

"I would lose my mind if something were to happen to you."

She averted her eyes. Jon quickly held her face by his hand and made her look at him forcefully. Arya flinched and her defensive instinct made her push at him strongly. But her mouth opened in a sigh when Jon brought her close to him, his breath fanning her face.

"This would all be for nothing." His eyes were closed, and his voice was hoarse. "I've lost so many people in my life. I won't lose you too. Not you of all people. I refuse to."

The scar on his face reminded her of her own. Jon was a fighter, and yet he was stopping her from doing the same. Arya felt a heavy pull in her chest, as she reached up and pressed her lips against his fading scar, and Jon hissed. She knew it wasn't the pain.

Arya dragged her lips down his face, without withdrawing. Jon kept his eyes closed, and without thinking too much of it, without thinking _at all_ , Arya kissed his lips. She could feel them trembling underneath hers, and she pulled back only to kiss him again, at the same spot.

Jon responded this time, opening his mouth and kissing her back, slowly taking her head in both his hands. A shiver ran down her entire body, and Arya pressed closer to him, tilting her head just slightly so he could kiss her better.

Jon's warm tongue slid slowly between her lips, and Arya felt tears hit the back of her eyes. Gendry had known how to kiss but he had been clumsy. Jon was not. Jon had kissed a hundred times before her, or so she felt like when his experiences tongue started moving inside her mouth, and knew exactly where to touch.

 _Dany._

Her tongue went out to meet his and he groaned.

 _He had kissed Dany._

Arya pulled back quickly, and pushed him away with her arms.

"You're married," she huffed out, panting.

Jon looked taken aback. He licked his lips, and Arya felt that shiver again.

"And you're my brother."

She could see that the words had hit Jon hard. She didn't say the right words, but she didn't know what the right words even _were_.

He blinked at her a few times, and without saying anything, turned around to leave.

Arya felt like screaming at him. But it was she who had started this. It wasn't his fault if he hated it, if he didn't want to look at her now, or felt disgusted at her.

"You'll not leave this room until I say so," he said. His voice was small, like he was forcing the words out because he had to.

"But this is your chambers."

"I'll sleep somewhere else."

"So you won't let me go?" She tried one more time.

Jon didn't answer her. He opened the door, and walked outside. Arya could see Sansa standing but before her sister could look at her, the door was closed, and Arya heard the click of a lock seconds after.

She lashed out at the door, and banged on it with her fists in anger.

"I'm not your prisoner, you stupid King! Get me out of here!"

But no one was there, or if there was, no one said anything. Arya kicked the door in anger, but the only result it gave was her foot being shook with a throbbing pain. A few more fists, and she gave up. It was of no use. He wouldn't come. Instead of the stupid kiss, she should've stabbed him with Needle. She should've knocked him out and made a run for it. But here she was, cheeks flushed from exhilaration, and there was no way to escape this stupid room, _his_ stupid room.

Arya pressed her fingers against her lips, trying not to think of why or what she had actually done, or what it could mean. She had gotten used to angry and stubborn Jon since returning, and maybe him being angry about the kiss would have made it worse, but at least then she would've _known_ what was going on in his head. Gods knew when she'd see him again and what he'd say to her. Could she live with Jon hating her? It wouldn't matter with another person, but Jon was different.

Arya laid on his bed, dropping Needle on the floor. It was warm with the hearth glowing brightly. The furs had his smell, and she curled against them. Contrary to what she was expecting, her eyes closed and the sleep was blissful. She dreamt of her and Jon, fighting and kissing, almost like a memory, and on the east side of the room, on one of the open windows, was a raven watching everything.

One with three eyes.

It was hours till daylight, when Arya woke up, sweat on her chest and neck. She shrugged the furs off her body, and cherished the coldness on her damp skin. She had forgotten it was Jon's chambers she had slept in.

Memories of last night invaded her head with a terrible headache.

The door clicked. Arya expected Jon to come in. She _prayed_ it was Jon.

But it wasn't.

It was Sansa, and behind her was the Hound, pushing Bran's chair.

"Bran told us you'd be awake," Sansa said with a smile. "I'm sorry for what happened last night."

Arya shook her head. Headache forgotten, she leapt out of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Getting you out of here," Sansa said. "Help you get to King's Landing."

"Why?" She looked at Bran. "Jon would be furious with you."

"I know," Bran replied. "Could you leave us for a while, Sandor, and you too, Sansa."

Sansa looked disappointed at being sent away but she nodded anyway.

"I'll be right outside."

Arya saw the Hound roll his eyes and follow her. She looked at Bran and found him studying her silently.

"I know what happened with Jon," he said calmly.

Arya's heartbeat paced up.

"Yes, we had an argument and he left in anger."

"No. I know what happened _after_."

Arya's eyes widened. She didn't speak, but she knew. That raven. It was Bran.

"I do not judge you," Bran said, ever so wisely. Arya could at least assure herself that he didn't _look_ like he was judging her. But it was hard to read Bran, mostly because he knew she was reading him.

"It's not something that would happen again," she promised, the words easy on her tongue.

"He doesn't hate you, if you're worried."

Arya smiled half-heartedly at her little brother, then kneeled before him to get their faces at the same height.

"Why are you doing this, knowing that he disapproves? I wouldn't take you as someone to go against him."

Bran smiled. He looked so much older when he did. Sometimes, her heart ached for her brother. He knew everything about everyone, but no one truly knew anything about him. She knew half of his secrets, and he knew all of hers. She wanted to be there for her brother, but she didn't know how to do so without truly understanding him.

"I have my reasons. Someday I'll tell you all of them."

Arya hugged him tightly.

"If you see danger, run _away_ from it," he said.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"And take care of yourself, sister," he said. "I'll be there with you all the time."

Arya hugged him again. She could feel a sadness coming from him. But she doubted he'd say anything if she asked. Arya picked up Needle from the floor, and grabbed her cloak. Her siblings had went against Jon for her, the least she could do now was to get her revenge, and theirs.

She opened the door to find Sansa and the Hound, facing away from each other. Sansa gave her a vibrant smile, and handed her a pouch of money.

"So we're ready to go?"

Arya turned in surprise to the Hound who was straightening his clothes.

"Where in the Seven Hells are _you_ going?"

The Hound gave her a snort.

"Your sister told me to keep you safe."

"I don't need your help."

"Arya, please," Sansa begged. "To give me piece of mind."

Arya didn't want anyone else to get involved, not in something like this. But Sansa's worried face looking at her wouldn't let her disagree. She looked at Sandor, who she was sure only agreed to this because Sansa asked him to, not because he really wanted. Gods, the last person she wanted to accompany her was him.

"He annoys me," she blurted out.

"Not more than you annoy me." He shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind meeting my brother again."

Arya scrutinized him. The Hound hated his brother, but hating him did not mean he was stronger than him. There must be some truth in the rumour that the Mountain was now a disfigured monster.

"You're not going against him. He'll kill you," Arya said.

The Hound looked bored.

"Can we get out of here? And you don't decide whom I go against."

Arya was unsure, but nevertheless bade her siblings goodbye. Sansa looked sad, but she smiled. Bran only nodded.

 _He'll be with me._

Winterfell was out of their sights when dawn broke. Arya looked back once, mumbled one small apology to Jon in her head, and rode on. Nymeria kept her distance, much to the Hound's relief.

"Just like old times, wolf bitch."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Best you don't annoy me. I know how to use my sword better this time."

"I don't plan on dying on the road."

"You better don't. Not even in there." She stole a glance at him. "Sansa would be dejected."

They didn't speak for hours after that.

Arya looked back again at Nymeria, and she stared back with her golden eyes.

 _Bran._

A boy has more courage than sense, Jaqen H'ghar had told her. Maybe it was true.


	31. Arya XII, Dany II, Sansa IV, Jaime II

Chapter XXXI: The Battle of King's Landing (Part I)

 **Arya**

It was gone.

The Sept, whose steps were once bloodied with her father's head.

Arya clenched her fists. Sandor walked indifferently beside her, and she held out her hand to stop him, and pushed him to hide behind one of the city's gigantic walls.

"Soldiers," she whispered. The sound of boots and armors clanking approached their way, then passed. She looked at her companion and shook her head in disappointment. Sneaking into a castle with Sandor Clegane seemed like an _impossible_ feat to her.

"It will start soon." Her heartbeat increased. For once, she put herself on Daenerys' side, and hoped she would emerge victorious.

"We'll have to hurry," she added. How long would it take for three dragons to burn an army? Not _very_ long, she'd wager, and she needed to finish her job by then.

The city was not what she remembered. She had never been particularly fond of King's Landing, but watching it now, with the streets filled with urchins and beggars and people lying naked and malnourished on the streets, made her feel almost a sort of admiration towards Robert Baratheon. At least he didn't let his people starve on the streets.

"How about we wait?" The Hound suggested. Arya looked at him with disbelief.

"Wait? I just told you we have to hurry!"

The Hound scoffed.

"Listen, girl. How in the Seven Hells do you plan on infiltrating a castle with a hundred guards? Everyone will be out at the city gates guarding when the battle starts. So _let_ it start. That will leave only Gregor with the Queen."

"And you think your damned brother is less than a hundred soldiers?" Arya raised her brow.

"I know he's not. But I'll keep him busy while you get to that Lannister. With us fighting a large number would only end up in a shit load of wasted time."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath. They both sat down on the streets in the corner of a deserted area, which looked similar to a marketplace. Arya looked around, but there was no one there, and all the shops were abandoned.

 _The food is gone._

She remembered a time when she had been forced to live for days without a decent meal. Her stomach would grumble and she would curl in her makeshift bed in pain, but the hunger wouldn't leave.

"Do you think Daenerys can help these people?"

The Hound snorted.

"Kings and Queens don't give a shit about the lowborn."

Arya remained silent, but she knew he wasn't right.

 _Jon isn't like that. Jon cares._

She wondered if he was still angry with her.

"How long do we have to wait?" She said impatiently, closing her head and leaning her head back against the alley wall.

"How should I know?" The Hound asked in annoyance. Arya glanced at him through one open eye. His eyes were straight ahead, and-

Was it fear she saw in them?

She knew he was terrified of his brother, and the more Arya looked at him, the more she was convinced that this had been a terrible choice. She could die here in King's Landing while or after killing Cersei, but she could also survive. She was small, and fast. It was hard for others to catch her if she didn't want them to. But Sandor was here to fight his brother, and his brother was the most feared beast in Westeros. Could a human kill a monster, she wondered. She had spared his life once, but she had not done it just for him to recklessly risk it by going against the Mountain.

But it wouldn't do any good to tell him that he shouldn't have come. She had done that, and all she had gotten in return were filthy curses directed at her and his proclamation that he did not care if he were to die or live.

Arya sighed and waited. The more time they spent sitting on that alley, the more she felt a strange foreboding, that something bad was coming.

It didn't pass her mind for once that she had left Nymeria behind in the forests outside the city.

 **Daenerys**

Her fleet, both of the Iron Islands and the Dorne, had reached Dragonstone when they had first arrived in Winterfell. A few dozens of her Unsullied she had taken to Winterfell and the rest were at Highgarden with the Dothraki. Lord Tyrion had planned this on the days they had spent sailing across the Narrow Sea, and her army had spread. She had wanted to keep the Unsullied and the Dothraki with her, but Tyrion had convinced them that it would waste unnecessary time to move an entire army from Winterfell to King's Landing, and it that the Northerners could take it as a declaration of war if she were to take an army so large to Winterfell. Olenna Tyrell had gracefully offered her help and had sheltered both the groups and her own Tyrell bannermen, and Daenerys reminded herself to reward the woman handsomely. She only wished her Dothraki had listened to her wishes and remained civil while she wasn't there to control them.

Daenerys and her company met her army at the south of the mouth of the Blackwater river, where the Kingsroad and the Roseroad met, and her fleet approached the city from the Blackwater bay with every passing second. Her dragons had been well fed for this battle, and she paid one last visit to them in chains, promising them with a soothing voice that she would free them soon. She placed her palm against Drogon's nose, and the dragon growled softly. She would win this war. Cersei Lannister had not even half as much men as she did. She would _finally_ claim her birthright.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm called her.

She turned.

"There has been a sighting. Army from the west."

Daenerys took a long breath.

"Lord Tyrion's brother?" She asked, her hands reaching out to clasp Drogon's chain.

He nodded.

"Take off their chains," she ordered, and walked to the war tents. She found Tyrion drinking a goblet of wine.

"Is this the time, My Lord Hand?" She asked, sarcastically. He shrugged, and emptied his goblet at once.

"I hope you're ready to reunite with your brother?"

"Not very ecstatic about it, Your Grace. Haven't seen him since I pierced my dear father with a crossbow."

"And what if before you can see him I were to show him my wrath and have him burned?" She did not move her eyes off him. Daenerys respected Tyrion Lannister very much, and even had a sense of fondness for him, but she knew that he had a close familial bond with Jaime Lannister, far in contrast with the one she shared with Viserys. Would he be able to follow her still, if she were to incarcerate his own blood?

"I am your Hand now, Your Grace. My loyalty lies with you. I chose my side and so did my brother. Perhaps we have parted our ways for good."

She nodded, slowly, and Tyrion rose from his seat.

"So, shall we, My Queen?"

Daenerys nodded.

Her dragons roared.

 **Sansa**

"Bran," she called out again, and this time he moved his eyes to her, away from the fire.

"You must swear to me that no one else is to know of this," he asked. "Not Jon or Arya or _anyone_."

"I swear it," Sansa replied, her hands clutching strongly on the arms of the chair she was sitting on. Her nervousness grew tenfold.

"I had a vision," Bran said, his hands clasped together in his lap. "I saw the survivors of the Great War, and," he hesitated. "Arya wasn't among them."

Sansa's eyes widened as she felt her heart nearly stop. Bran looked at her, and for the first time since his return, she saw fear in his eyes.

"I looked for her again and again, but I couldn't find her. Then I had another one- of Jon locking her up in his room. So I thought-" He stopped, closing his eyes for a brief second. "I thought if I could change the course of destiny, even in a small way, maybe-"

"She will survive," Sansa finished him.

"In my visions, she never left for King's Landing. So I changed it. I don't know what would come of it. To be honest, I'm scared to death that I might have made a mistake."

Sansa wanted to cry. She thought of all the times Arya had got on her nerves as a child and even as a woman, and how they had finally started loving each other as sisters ought to love each other. And to think of losing her- she thought it would leave a hole in her heart she would never be able to fill.

She moved from her place on the chair to go and kneel beside Bran. Her brother was staring at the floor, dejected.

"Is she safe now?" She asked.

Bran nodded.

"And now that you have sent her away, has the vision changed?" She asked, hopeful.

"I haven't had one since she left," he confessed.

Sansa hugged her brother, and Bran clenched her arm.

"She will be alright," she said, more to herself than to him. "She's brave. And Sandor is with her."

"I told him to protect her at any cost." Bran looked at her, all-knowing eyes. "Even at the cost of his own life."

Sansa swallowed a lump in her throat. It wouldn't be impossible for both of them to return, she told herself.

"Are you sure we should not tell Jon?" She asked. Jon would make sure she is safe. No matter what had to be done, Jon would do it.

"No," Bran refused her. "He has a bigger enemy now. He must keep his mind on it."

"But he loves her!" Sansa argued. She knew how she would feel if she was the one kept in darkness, and Jon would feel worse than her.

"Sansa, you _swore_."

She wanted to say something else, but looking at Bran, she knew his words held some truth. Jon would lose his mind, if not worse.

"I will not tell him," she promised. "But-"

The door was opened with a creak, and both of them turned around to look at the man himself.

"Sansa. Bran," he greeted, with no emotion in his voice, and even refused to meet their eyes.

"Jon," she greeted back, and stood up, moving to sit on the chair again.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me, Bran?" Jon asked.

Sansa looked over at her brother. He had returned to his old self, silent and calm. The fear was nowhere to be seen.

"The Night King is coming."

Sansa saw Jon suck in a breath.

"How much time do we have?" He asked.

"Three moons. At most."

Sansa felt the hair on her skin stand. She had never laid sight on any dead, but the thought was still terrifying.

"We have to be ready in a moon's turn," Jon said. "Sansa, the smithy?"

"We do not have enough weapons to arm the entire North," she replied. The men had been working hard, but they were still men. Weapon forging took a long time.

"Summon every smith from every forge in the North. Even the apprentices. And also the bannermen. Any boy, girl or woman who can fight. We need whoever we can get."

Sansa nodded. The thought of war never failed to unnerve her.

"I'll leave for Castle Black," Jon announced. "The Wall needs to be guarded. If it falls, we're all doomed."

She saw him run his fingers against his temple. He was so burdened. With Arya, and now with the war. Sansa wanted to help, but she did not know how to.

"Is she safe?" Jon asked, suddenly, staring at Bran.

Bran nodded, and she saw Jon let out a breath he had been holding.

"Sansa, write that raven. I'll leave for Castle Black tomorrow with my men. I'm leaving Winterfell in your charge. And Bran," Jon said, his voice going soft, and his eyes filled with desperation. " _Please_ keep her safe."

"I will," Bran swore.

The moment Jon left, Sansa tears burst forth. Bran looked at her with sad eyes, and moved over to take her hand.

"The pack survives," he whispered. Sansa wiped her tears. She could not bear to even _think_ of losing someone of her family again.

"I'll keep her safe, I promise." Bran said.

Sansa believed him.

 **Jaime**

They had just passed Blackwater Rush when Jaime raised a hand to stop his army.

"My Lord?" His commander asked.

Jaime waited for everyone to go still.

"Don't you hear that?" He asked.

The ground beneath his feet started shaking.

"Take cover!" He shouted, as his horse neighed in fear. And then Jaime saw- an entire army thrice the size of his, rushing towards them with a battle cry, and from among them emerged three living dragons.

And one of them was being ridden.


	32. Arya XIII, Jaime III

Chapter XXXII: The Battle of King's Landing (Part II)

 **Arya**

The Mountain was a _monster_.

He had eyes like none Arya had seen in her life, and she had seen _many_. She was so tiny compared to him that Arya feared he might crush her with his bare fist if he would intend to.

She braced herself.

"Don't bother."

She glanced at the Hound. Sandor Clegane's face betrayed his emotions. He, for one, looked as much shocked as Arya at his brother's horrifying appearance. But Arya saw something else there. Regret? _Fear_? She turned away from him before she could make it out.

"You'll die if you fight him alone," she blurted out.

Sandor scoffed.

"No need to fight unnecessary battles, Stark. This one's mine. You go get your share." He pointed towards the Queen's chambers.

Arya's grip tightened around her sword. The Mountain would strike any moment. She knew that she would never be able to kill that man, but could she leave Sandor behind knowing what the obvious outcome of the battle would be?

She sighed in frustration, and lessened her grip.

"You better get back to my sister in one piece, Hound."

With that, Arya sprinted towards Gregor Clegane, and as the Kingsguard unsheathed his sword, she used her feet to slide in between his legs and out the other side. The Mountain grunted and turned to attack her, but his sword got blocked by his brother's. Arya turned around momentarily to look at Sandor who motioned for her to go on. She bit her lip and turned her eyes back to the door infront of her, pushing it open with one hand, and with the other taking out Needle.

It had been a _long_ time since she'd seen Cersei Lannister.

The Queen had not grown less beautiful than Arya had remembered her to be. Age had taken its toll, but it would be easy for anyone to mistake the Queen for being much younger than she actually was. Her long, blonde tresses had been cut short.

 _Chopped_ , Arya realized, on seeing the rough edges.

Cersei turned and a veil of confusion draped itself across her face. But then suddenly her eyes widened. Arya frowned. The Queen looked like she had seen a ghost.

"Who are you, girl?"

Arya traced the hilt of Needle with her thumb, and a smile broke out on her face.

"We met many years ago, Your Grace. You knew my father well."

Cersei took a step forward. Her eyes fell on Arya's hip, and then went back to her face. After a moment, her face went calm.

"You're here to kill me?"

The Queen's voice was mocking. Of course, she would think this is a jape. Arya looked even younger than her age.

Arya pointed Needle at the Queen's throat. One slash, and it would all be over. Justice would be served for her father. But she couldn't kill Cersei _yet_.

"I am Arya Stark," she said, and rejoiced in the shadow that passed over the Queen's face as soon as she did. "It was your fault that my father, Eddard Stark, was executed. On your father's orders, my mother and my brother were slain. It is time for you to face justice, Cersei Lannister." She pressed the tip into her throat and a drop of blood spilled from her white neck.

Cersei laughed.

"You know you look just like her."

At Arya's confusion, the Queen chuckled again.

"Lyanna Stark. She started this. She never left that fat fool alone, even after death. She tricked Prince Rhaegar. She was nothing but a witch. It's strange how much you look like her."

Arya opened her mouth to say something but heard a loud clash of steel from outside which halted her movements.

 _Sandor_.

She had to hurry.

Arya approached Cersei and pressed Needle's blade deeper into her skin. The blood now dripped down her collar.

"How sad, then," Arya said softly, "to be killed by a _ghost_."

Cersei's eyes sharpened and she pushed against her assailant, but Arya had already ran her blade across her throat.

Blood spilled out of her neck and the Queen fell to the ground. Her eyes bulged out and after seconds of struggling, she lied on the ground with her eyes staring up at her.

Arya wiped her blade across her clothes, and sheathed it in its scabbard.

"Valar Morghuli-"

Before she could finish her words, a sound cut through the air and Arya clenched her ears in pain. Her vision blurred and when she looked at her palms, they were covered in blood. Horrified, she looked at the corpse on the ground, and saw that a pool of blood had gushed out from Cersei's ears as well.

 **Jaime**

body pulled him forcefully to the ground, and for the first time since he had been made a Knight, he considered yielding. He wanted this to end: the fire, the brutal way in which his army was being killed. This wasn't a battle. This was _carnage_.

He grabbed a shield from a fallen soldier, and used it to push back a Dothraki _beast_. The moment his longsword pierced through the foreigner's torso, Jaime's limbs protested violently.

pHe wanted to let go; to lie down and let everything be. He wanted to die, and wished that his love for his sister did not run so deep.

But it did. Even after every vile and cruel thing Cersei had done- to him and to others- Jaime found his mind flooded with nothing but her in these moments: which he guessed would soon be his last. Their love had always been a curse. Mayhaps they had been able to find pleasure and some happiness in it, but it had been nothing but poisonous since the moment they had been born.

The fluttering of gigantic wings rang sharply through his ears and Jaime swung his sword through empty air, his lungs almost bursting from the exhilaration.

"Kingslayer!"

A woman's voice rang through the air. It was the first time Jaime had heard her say anything except that wretched word: which made her dragons spit fire. Jaime put all his strength into his legs and ran, and heard the fire burn the ground behind him and follow him.

A dozen men came behind him to shield him from the fire, but the dragon charred them to their bones.

"Kingslayer! Lannister!"

The strength seeped away from his bones and muscles, and Jaime felt his vision blur.

He closed his eyes.

 _Cersei_.

The dragon roared in fury.

 _Cersei_.

Jaime fell to his knees.

 _Cersei_.

His longsword slipped from his hands.

 _Cersei_. _Cersei_. _Cersei_.

And then, in a split second, a piercing sound rang through the air, and his eyes opened wildly. Jaime covered his ears with his hands. The ground beneath him shook with a force and he looked behind his shoulder.

The dragon had fallen, screaming in agony.

And before him on the ground, was _Daenerys Targaryen._

Alive and _unarmed_.

 **Arya**

Arya reached for anything to grab on, as a sharp and horrible pain shot through her head. She felt the warmth of her blood slowly drip down her neck to her shoulders.

She dragged herself to the door and pushed it open, and infront of her, Sandor and the Mountain were still fighting, but both of them had been injured and looked weak.

"Sandor!" Arya managed to cry out but her voice didn't reach her own ears. Thankfully for her, he looked at her in response.

He shouted something in return but Arya could no longer feel her ears. She breathed heavily and looked around. The sound had stopped but she still felt as if her bones were shaking inside her body.

In her moment of being undefended, the Mountain lashed at her with his longsword. Arya managed to dodge him, even if she did it too slow. She dodged another blow clumsily before Sandor came between her and the giant and shoved her aside roughly with his arms.

"Get _out_ of here!"

She finally heard his voice, even if it was low. Arya shook her head. She couldn't leave him. He would die. She couldn't abandon him _again_.

She pulled out Needle to fight beside him, but realized in horror that her body had lost all the strength to attack. Her arms fell slack against her sides.

Sandor grabbed her by her arm.

"Get the fuck out of this damned city before my brother splits your fucking skull into two!"

Arya opened her mouth to protest, but instead felt a sharp stab against her abdomen. The Mountain's sword had grazed across her midsection and left her waist split open. She grabbed herself in pain.

She looked at Sandor who was screaming for her to get away.

But he would die. He would die, and she would fail her sister. But she was of no help. If anything, she was slowing the Hound down.

"Sandor," she called one last time as she paced backwards away from the fight. The Hound turned to glance at her briefly before he had to face his brother again.

Arya felt ashamed as she walked- or rather dragged her body- away from the men and towards the castle doors. Her heart sank at the thought of tears on Sansa's face.

 _Sister. Arya. Arya. I'm here._

She had made it out of the city when her legs gave away and Arya fell down in a heap of limbs. Her eyes felt too heavy and just wouldn't stay open for her life.

A growl echoed. Arya turned her blurry vision towards the Red Keep, and saw something flying over it. She couldn't make it out at first but then she realized what it was.

"Dragon."

Her voice was but a whisper as she finally closed her eyes. But not before watching a shower of fire land from the sky above the Red Keep, and engulf the castle in red and yellow flames.


	33. Arya XIV

Chapter XXXIII: The Aftermath

"I am glad to see you awake, Lady Arya."

When Arya's eyes finally adjusted to the light, she saw a face she was not expecting to see.

Daenerys Targaryen's silver hair caught so much light that it was shining. Arya looked at her face and saw her smiling. Arya lowered her hand to touch her abdomen and found that the wound had been bandaged. Her head didn't ache anymore either.

"You were bleeding very badly," Daenerys said. She handed Arya a glass of water and she accepted it gratefully. "But it was not a deep wound. Your ears were bleeding too, but I guess it's healed now?"

Arya couldn't feel any pain there, so she nodded.

"How long have I been here?" She asked. Her voice was small. She cleared her throat twice.

"Two days," the Queen replied and Arya realized that Daenerys was being strangely nice to her.

"And how did I get here?" Arya remembered losing consciousness outside Kings Landing. She remembered the dragons, the fire. Sandor. _Cersei_.

Her head started hurting so Arya closed her eyes for a bit.

"Your wolf dragged you here."

Arya's eyes opened in shock.

"Nymeria?"

Dany frowned, and Arya realized that she didn't know what the wolf's name was.

"You were covered in blood and mud. But luckily, Lord Tyrion found you and called the medic. You haven't opened your eyes since. And your wolf hasn't left the camp either. She's been scaring everyone to death."

Arya laughed softly. She wanted so badly to feel Nymeria's soft fur underneath her fingers.

"I guess I should thank you for killing Cersei Lannister."

Daenerys looked at her with a calm face. Arya realized that the skin under her eyes had turned dark. She probably hadn't slept well for days.

"She killed my father," Arya said softly, and played pwith the hem of the loose shift she had been changed into. She guessed it was Daenerys'. "I owed him this," she added. She realized that her list was finally complete. Her enemies were dead. Every single one of them. She had no more names to recite every night before she went to sleep. For some reason, it did not bring her the joy she had thought it would.

"What happened of your war?" Arya asked.

Arya followed her gaze. The Queen was staring absentmindedly.

"We have him in chains. Jaime Lannister." The name made Arya alert. "We won the war, but there were repercussions. When that wretched horn blew my dragons lost control. The one I was riding I managed to tame but the two others flew over King's Landing and burned the entire city to ashes. So you see Arya, I may have won the war but I have no Throne to sit on. And more than that, my dragons are perhaps lost to me forever."

Arya was surprised at the Queen calling her only by her name, but she figured it wasn't a very good time to dwell on that. Daenerys looked sad. Arya remembered losing Nymeria as a child. It had been like losing an arm or a leg. But then she realized, with sadness, that the dragons were the only true family Daenerys had, and they were not just animals to her. They were like children.

"My brother never loved me," Daenerys said. She looked at Arya and then moved her eyes to her hands entwined on her lap. "We grew up as siblings but none of us held any love for each other. I was means for him to become the King, and for me- he was someone I couldn't survive without. When he died by my own orders I did not feel a thing. When my beloved Drogo died, it was like my heart had shattered. But those dragons were my children. And the family I never had." She looked at Arya. "I know we're not friends, but- I think you understand. What it's like to lose family."

Arya nodded, and remembered her father again. The way she used to bring him wild flowers and how he'd playfully scold and then kiss the top of her head like all was forgiven. Mother used to chase her around, and shake her head at her everytime she went inside the castle covered in mud. Robb used to be her guardian against her mother's scoldings, since Jon never could come in front of Lady Catelyn. Baby Rickon used to admire her and Arya would run across the yard with his hand in hers. They would return home after sunset with their wolves on their heel, all dirty and muddy and laughing, earning dangerous glares from their mother.

"I know," Arya replied. "I'm afraid I know all too well."

To her surprise, Daenerys laid a hand on hers. Arya smiled and took it with hers. She did not like Daenerys as a Queen, but perhaps- just perhaps- Daenerys as a person wasn't so unlikeable. In that moment, she knew what pain Daenerys felt and could understand the amount of will it took for her to stay strong. She sympathised with her, and for that moment chose to forget that she was the same Queen who had threatened Bran.

Daenerys nodded to her and called a woman inside. The woman- Missandei, Arya remembered- laid a scroll in her hands. Daenerys took it and bid her away. After she left, the Queen placed it on Arya's hands.

"I wrote to Winterfell," she said.

Arya's heart stopped.

"Did Jon write back?" Arya clutched the scroll in her hands.

"No," Daenerys replied. Arya let out a breath. "Sansa did. She sent a raven for you." Daenerys pointed at Arya's hand. "And another for me, saying that by the time my raven had reached them, Jon had left for Castle Black. She also said that she'll need my army to help defeat the Others, but I-"

She paused. Arya looked at her expectedly. She wanted to quickly get on with this and read Sansa's letter.

"My dragons did not only burn King's Landing. One of them burned more than half of my own army as well. I have only a couple of hundred of my men left and most of them are too weary to move so quickly to another battle. Euron Greyjoy destroyed my fleet before dying himself. I'm afraid- as much as I want to- the only help Jon will get from me are me and Drogon."

Arya thought hard. Drogon was the biggest one. One dragon would be enough, wouldn't it? And they had the Northerners and her wolves. They should be enough. They would _have_ to be.

Daenerys sighed.

"I haven't wrote to your sister. I believe I should." She stood up and nodded to Arya with a smile. "Rest, Lady Arya."

She turned around but Arya called her name.

"I'm not a Lady," she said. "You can call me Arya."

Daenerys smiled.

"And," she added, sitting up. Her muscles ached and her head hurt. "I would like to return home as soon as possible. If you could give me a good horse-"

"But I think you should rest more," Daenerys suggested, looking at Arya's bandages through her shift. "There is time yet."

"I'm afraid there isn't," Arya said. She looked at Sansa's letter in her hand. "I have to leave for Winterfell. I'll be fine; I've lived through worse. Will you come with me? The North needs you."

Daenerys contemplated it for a second but then shook her head.

"I have yet to try and get my two children back. I will see you in the North after I'm done here," she said, and opened the tent flap to leave. "I will send you warm clothes and you can have any horse you want."

"Thank you."

"And please. For the time that you're here, keep your wolf beside you. She's very terrifying."

"Of course," Arya replied.

 _Dearest sister,_

 _You cannot even imagine how happy I am to hear that you are alive. Bran assured me, but feels good to have proof. I heard of King's Landing. I am almost happy to hear that wretched place is destroyed._

 _Things are not well. Jon has left for Castle Black and the War is near. Bran spends hours in the Godswood. He's troubled._

 _Come home as soon as you can. Your wolves howl all through the night._

 _I have written to Jon that you are well. He's been miserable, Arya. I'm so sorry that we had to put him through this._

 _I will await your arrival. I miss you. So does Bran._

 _Come home, wolf girl._

 _Sansa._

 _Sister. Sister._

Arya woke up with a start. Her heart sped up as sweat rolled down in drops down her forehead.

 _You have to bring him with you._

"Who?" Arya asked aloud. She was never going to get used to Bran being inside her head.

 _Jaime Lannister. They will kill him. He must not die. Bring him home with you._

"The _Kingslayer_?" Arya's voice was hushed but shocked. "You want me to save the Kingslayer?"

 _We may yet have need of him. Get him out of that place._

"He's Daenerys' prisoner."

 _She has Westeros. She will have no more need of him._

Arya sighed. A cool breeze entered the tent and she felt her skin chill.

"It will be a _long_ journey back to Winterfell, won't it brother?"

 _I can keep you company._

Arya laughed softly.

"People will think me mad if I talk to myself. But- you trust me not to kill him?"

 _You know what's at stake here, sister._

"I know. I still don't get why you want him alive."

 _He has a Valyrian Steel sword._

"I'll just take the sword then!"

 _No. He is a good fighter. He has a purpose._

She rolled her eyes. There was no point in arguing with Bran, not when he used his wise voice. And Arya knew that Bran wouldn't get out of her head as long as she didn't listen to him. She got out of the tent into the night air. The air was crisp. She missed the cold icy chills of the North. Stars covered the night sky, and Arya waded through the different tents in search for the prisoner. She had settled Needle on her hip.

Nymeria had went into the woods to hunt, and Arya prayed that she wouldn't return soon. The wolf was far from silent and had a temper that made her growl at every stranger she saw.

 _Right_.

Arya rolled her eyes again.

"Get out of my head, Bran. I'll manage," she whispered.

 _I'll help._

"I'm older. Listen to me."

 _Of course, big sister._

Arya realized how much she had missed him. She wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms then. Him and Sansa. And Jon the most of all.

As she looked around, she remembered the last time she'd seen Jon. She did not even know what she was going to say to him when she saw him again. Damn them both to the Seven Hells. They were idiots.

 _There_.

Arya looked ahead. And saw him. Jaime Lannister, bound in chains, sleeping with his head against a tree. A guard was stationed beside him. Arya did not want to kill, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the guard was dozing. She approached with silent steps, but then stopped suddenly as she heard footsteps beside her. Her hand went to Needle.

"Lady Stark," the imp's voice cut through the silent air.

"Lord Tyrion," she said in surprise. _Unexpected_. "I did not expect you'd be up so late at night."

The imp smiled, but Arya could see that it was just a formality. She knew that he could sense something was amiss.

"And _you_ , My Lady, are the _last_ person I was hoping to see here." He glanced briefly at his brother. "I only came to give my brother company. And what reason might you have to seek him?"

"I was simply dying to get a glimpse of the Kingslayer." Arya said the last word with a click of her tongue and venom in her voice. She wondered if she did manage to take the Lannister- would she be able to resist the urge to gut him like a fish.

"I'm right here you know."

Arya turned and met green eyes with her grey ones. The Kingslayer smiled through his teeth.

"Hello, Arya Stark. So nice to finally meet you."

Arya narrowed her eyes, and kept her attention on Tyrion.

"I want him."

"Sorry, girl. You're too young for my tastes," Jaime blurted out. "And I have this repulsion against Starks-"

"Shut up." Arya's mouth formed a line. "I want you to come to me to Winterfell. My brother Bran wants to see you."

"Brandon Stark," Jaime Lannister whispered, and Arya saw the color drain from his cheeks. At once, the man sat up with his back straight and tugged on the chains around his wrists. The clink woke up the guard and he hastily went alert but Tyrion bid him away from the place.

"And why would he want me there? He has all the reason to let me die."

Arya frowned.

"Why reason does Bran-"

"What is going on here?"

Arya turned, and saw Daenerys Targaryen watch them with narrowed eyes. The Queen approached them slowly but with caution. Arya wanted to smack Bran in the head for this. Now she would have to change tactics.

"Your Grace," Tyrion greeted with a bow.

"What are you doing here, Lord Hand? And Arya?"

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. A cluster of thoughts formed in her head.

"I'm here because-" She paused. "I need to ask a favour of you."

Daenerys looked surprised.

"And what favour is that?"

Arya looked directly at Jaime Lannister's face. He was no longer smiling or making japes. He looked serious- tensed, even.

"I want you to give up the Kingslayer to me. I want to take him to Winterfell."

Daenerys' eyes darkened. She looked at Arya dangerously.

"And why would I allow that?"

Arya managed a sly smile.

"Because I killed Cersei Lannister for you." She heard the Kingslayer hold his breath sharply. "And for that you have yet to repay me."

"You did it for _Your Queen_." Daenerys did not look amused. Arya wondered if the very fragile thread of friendship that had not so long ago bound them, would break loose at this very instant.

Arya shook her head.

"I did it for the North, and it has shown it's loyalty to you through me killing your greatest enemy. Now you must prove yours to us."

"I did not realize that the North and I had separate causes."

"We do not," Arya assured her. "But not giving us what we want in exchange for the favour we have done you by killing Cersei- it will surely mean disloyalty on your part."

"And you claim to speak for the North?" Daenerys' voice was high. "When your King is _my_ husband?"

Arya curved her lip.

"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. I speak for the North as much as Jon does, or any of my siblings."

"He killed my father," The Queen said. "And for that he must be judged."

Arya wanted to say that he had killed a madman, but she stopped herself from defending someone like him.

"His father killed my mother and my brother and his wife. His family destroyed mine. He is no friend of mine or of the North."

Daenerys stared at her. Arya did not lower her gaze. Bran had put her in a difficult position. She had little experience in politics, but she wasn't unsure that Daenerys would take her blunder.

"And what do you think, Lord Hand?"

Tyrion was silent for most of the time. He finally cleared his throat.

"I believe my brother is as great a enemy to the Starks as he is to you, Your Grace. I see no reason why him being entrusted to them would cause any difficulties."

Arya wanted to laugh. Tyrion was helping his brother. He knew that Daenerys would kill him as soon as possible, and if Arya took him, he might have a chance to live.

"And _why_ exactly does Lady Arya want him?" Daenerys looked at her again.

"My brother wants him. He says he is important in the war to come."

"And I should trust your brother's judgement?"

"I believe you only have to entrust him to us. You do not have to trust me _or_ my brother, but I will assure you that he will no longer be of any danger to you or to the realm. If he is, then in the name of my father's Gods, I swear that I will kill him myself."

"Please," she added, looking her in the eye. "We need him."

Daenerys thought for a while, then nodded her head, although reluctantly.

"Then take him and do as you please," she said. She looked at Tyrion closely before turning around and leaving. When she disappeared from her vision, Arya closed her eyes briefly.

"What exactly do you plan to do with me?" Jaime Lannister asked.

Arya ignored his question.

"Where's your Valyrian Steel sword?"

The Kingslayer looked up at her and shook his head. Tyrion intervened.

"I have it with me," the imp said. Arya nodded.

"Bran wants nothing more from you than for you to fight." At that, the brothers gave her a look of disbelief. "The Great War is coming and we need every man we can get, and my brother seems to think that you are a valuable weapon against the Others. So, Jaime Lannister. All we'll ask of you is to fight. You have fought your whole life for that wretched sister of yours. So for once in your life, fight for something that's right."

Tyrion vanished and appeared a few minutes later with the sword covered in a cloth. Arya watched as Jaime looked at it for what seemed like hours. When he looked away, she knew that he had made his decision.

 _Well done, Lady Stark._

"Shut up," she muttered under her breath. And with that Bran was gone.

"Thank you, Arya Stark," Tyrion said. Arya shook her head.

"I am not doing this for you."

"I know," Tyrion agreed, but bowed his head to give her a small smile. "But thank you still. And to your brother."

Arya shrugged. The sky was being filled with white light. It would be dawn in a few hours and she could not wait to leave this place.

"So shall I be given a horse to ride?"

She looked at the Kingslayer. His eyes were covered by his hair.

"Might as well. But if you try to do something-"

"I won't," he told her, and looked her in the eye.

For some reason, Arya believed him.


	34. Jaime IV

Chapter XXXIV: The Lion and The Wolf

Jaime remembered the last time he had went up North. Everything had perhaps started- and gone wrong since- then. It shamed him to think of the early days. He had been nothing but a proud Knight, so much in love with Cersei that he had done terrible things in her name. He would change so many things if he got the chance, but he knew that thinking about it was useless.

Jaime remembered despising the Northern air with a passion, and it appeared that his opinion had not changed a bit. He hated every moment of travelling there, especially during the nights that grew colder as they neared Winterfell.

His companion intrigued him and Jaime would even confess that she amused him. Arya Stark reminded him of Brienne had how she had behaved with him when she had accompanied him down South. She would steal glances at him every few minutes to probably make sure that he was not trying to escape, but she refused to talk at him. On the first day, Jaime did not try to talk to her either, but as days passed, he realized that he was not the sort of person to go through such a long journey without speaking, no matter what sort of companion he travelled with.

"You know, Lady Stark," he said, trying to make a conversation for the first time. "You might as well talk to me if you're going to look at me all the time anyway."

He meant is as a jape, but the Stark girl did not respond. He should have spent more time with Tyrion. His humour was growing weak.

A few moments passed before she glanced at him again and Jaime smirked at her in response.

"One would think you like looking at my face."

He saw her roll her eyes.

"Or maybe I'm thinking of ways I could slide a knife across your throat."

"There's only one way you can do that."

"I can try and think of atleast nine. Since it's you."

Jaime laughed. She _was_ just as amusing as Brienne. He made his horse move a little closer to hers. If Arya saw it she didn't show that she did.

"I'm curious." Jaime eyes moved to the sword at her hip. "How does a highborn lady and a daughter of _Eddard Stark_ come in possession of a sword, and talk of cutting up people with knives."

Arya faced him with narrowed eyes.

"You know nothing about me, Lannister," she spat. "And do not take my father's name from your mouth."

Jaime held up his hand in surrender.

"I never said I knew anything of you, My Lady, and believe me I do not. Except what my dear brother has told me. That is precisely why I'm _trying_ to know something about you. And as for your father, I had nothing to do with his death so stop treating me like I killed him."

To his surprise, Arya laughed.

"Your _entire_ family was responsible for my father's death, and you think just because you did not do it with your own hands that you are any less guilty of it?"

"I did not kill your father, Stark." he repeated, his voice low. His eyes fell on his sword which was tied to her saddle. He found no urge in himself to escape. "Even my sister- I do not think- wanted him to be executed. It was all dear little Joffrey, and of course your father's own foolishness."

He knew he had hit a nerve with his last words. Arya looked like she would have lunged at him in an instant if she had not been on the top of a horse. She looked at him with dangerous eyes: not the eyes of a highborn lady but the eyes of a person who did not _just_ boast about killing; who actually had the ability to do it. Jaime found himself wondering- not for the first time- exactly what had happened to this girl in all those years. Arya Stark had _disappeared_. Then where exactly was she all these years?

"My father was the most honorable man in Westeros," she claimed, and Jaime could hear in her voice that she believed it.

"And honor got him killed," he replied. He was surprised how she refused to see her father's faults. Jaime could make a list of all the things his own father had done wrong in his life. He realized that Ned Stark truly must have been a great father: that his children refused to see him as anything other than perfect.

Arya stared at him long and hard then looked ahead of her.

"The only mistake he made was going South. He belonged in Winterfell," she said, then added softly, "We all did."

"No. Nobody _belongs_ anywhere," he said. "We have to make do with what we got. If your father had let go of his honor for _one_ minute, he would have lived."

Jaime pulled his reins and his horse stopped. Arya raised a brow.

"Did you know," he asked. "Ned Stark could have sat on the Iron Throne. He could have had it all and you could have been royalty. Robert would have given him it, had he only asked. But his honor stopped him then too, or maybe he didn't want it. It had surprised me then. Who in the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't want to be the King? But your father didn't. I think- that was the first time I realized how much I detested him."

Arya Stark laughed again.

"I honestly do not want to discuss _honor_ with a man like yourself, _Kingslayer_."

Jaime couldn't stop his own cruel smile.

"It is _because_ I slayedthe King, Lady Stark, that Westeros is not a pile of rubble now," he said. He was getting annoyed by how much this girl did not understand. It was not her fault; every man in Westeros thought of him to be as dishonorable as they come. But he could not help but feel that she was as stubborn as Ned Stark had been. She did _look_ more Northern than any of the Stark children Jaime remembered; perhaps her father had left more of him in her than anyone else.

"So you are a hero?" she asked, making fun of him.

"You are a _Queenslayer_ yourself," he said with the same tone she had used. "So I guess we are the same."

"Your sister deserved it." She looked at him with hate. Cersei's name had made her flinch with anger. "You cannot defend her. She was no less insane than the Mad King."

Jaime wanted to say no. But he knew that she was right. Cersei had perhaps been even worse than Aerys. He should have stopped her before she went out of control. It was one of his biggest regrets in his life. One thing he knew for sure was that he would always love his sister: even if he didn't want to, even after she was gone. Jaime did not think he had it in him to do anything else but love her.

"Have you ever been in love, Lady Stark?" he asked suddenly, without realising. A small smile crept up on his face when he looked at her. "You have, haven't you?"

"I do not have time for love," she replied calmly.

"It's not something to be ashamed of," he told her, and grinned when she bit her lip. "I have done horrible things in the name of love. I would say I'm ashamed but that would be a lie. Tell me something, Stark." He could see that she was uncomfortable with the subject, and it amused him to no end that out of all things in the world, it was the mention of love that managed to fluster Arya Stark, the girl who threatened to kill a man twice her size and had actually managed to kill a Queen.

"If tomorrow," he began, not caring that she was now giving him the most dangerous glare he had ever seen a woman give. "The man you love were to lay waste to all of Westeros, would you stop loving him? Or _wanting_ him? Nothing changes how much you love someone. No matter how horrible they are or how wrong it is, you could never stop loving them. It is a curse, but a curse we all are doomed to live with."

Jaime realized that it was the first time he had admitted out loud that he could never stop loving Cersei. The words felt more concrete now, if they weren't already before. Cersei was someone who would never leave his mind until the day he closed his eyes for good.

He looked at Arya. She was staring ahead. Jaime saw in her eyes something he had always seen in his own everytime he looked in the mirror. Love: the sort that he had lived with since the day he had first kissed Cersei as a child. Love that he had tried to fight against for years until he had given up.

When Arya Stark refused to answer his question, Jaime knew her answer.

"The things we do for love," he whispered to himself.

Love _will ruin us all._


	35. Daenerys III

Chapter XXXV: The Mother of Dragons

When Dany saw Viserion and Drogon lying on the ground amidst the ashes that had once been the city of King's Landing, she realized with shame that this had all been her fault. The destruction, and the death of hundreds of her people. Her dragons losing control over themselves; had she spent more time with her children and tried to control them, perhaps she would have stopped this from happening. But now Dany could only look over what was supposed to be her castle and her throne. The Iron Throne which she had fought for and wanted for so long, had perished beneath dragon fire and nothing had remained. Not even a trace that this had been the capital of Westeros, the city she was to call hers. It was now nothing but ruins and Dany was only a queen of bones and smoke and _death_.

She brought Drogon down. The two others looked up and saw them. They flapped their gigantic wings and prepared to rise, and Dany saw Rhaegal look into her eyes and whine. But when she moved her eyes to look at Viserion, she saw a rage that she had never seen in any of them before. She looked closely, again, to make sure she was not imagining. But as long as he looked, she realized that Viserion's eyes were different than before. But it wasn't rage in them. No- not rage.

It was _madness_.

Rhaegal leapt up into the sky and moved around Drogon. Dany saw that his skin had been darkened by smoke, but Rhaegal no longer looked violent as he had been when Dany had last seen him. She reached out a hand, and smiled when he nuzzled his face against it affectionately . He looked tired and Dany's heart broke for him. That damned horn had hurt them: hurt them so much that they had failed to see sense and destroyed everything in their path.

Rhaegal flew in circles around her and Drogon, and Dany laughed for the first time in days. But as soon as she heard a growl, she looked down at the other dragon.

Viserion was breathing out flames and he looked like he did not appreciate their presence. Dany commanded Drogon to go down further to reach him, but before he could, Viserion leapt up in the sky and bared his teeth. Dany clutched Drogon harder as they moved in front of the him.

"I'm your mother," she told him, gently but loud enough so that he could hear it. She did not know how to make him listen, not when he was out of his senses in this way. Dany looked into his green eyes, meaning to make him remember, but Viserion seemed to have lost all control. He soared high above them once before approaching them with astounding speed. There were tears in Dany's eyes as Drogon moved to evade the attack and Dany made him fly higher. She would have to leave him. She had no choice. She could not take a mad dragon back to Dragonstone.

Her cheeks were stained as Rhaegal led the way and Drogon flew away from Viserion. Dany looked around to see him one last time, but as she did, she noticed that Viserion had managed to catch up to them.

"Rhaeg-"

The words died on her mouth as Viserion hit Drogon with the entire weight of his body and Drogon roared in fury. His black scales slipped through her fingers as he wildly moved from one side to another. Dany could not even hear her own scream over the roar of her dragons.

And then she fell.


	36. Arya XV

Chapter XXXVI: The Winter Wolves

Jaime Lannister was whispering stupid things near her ear as she handed the reins of her horse to the stableboy. Arya rolled her eyes. He was still a Lannister and if she could, she would kill him without hesitation instantly. But Bran had told her not to, and she had- with great difficulty- kept her word. Perhaps it helped that Jaime was more like his brother than his sister. The way he talked reminded her of the Imp, but looking at him always brought Cersei to her mind. Jaime Lannister had both of their siblings in him. Arya wondered if he hated that.

Looking at Sansa's face as her red-headed sister rushed towards her, Arya was filled with guilt. She had stopped herself from thinking too much of the Hound till then, but the moment their eyes met, she could see Sansa look at her almost with pity. There was sadness in her sister's eyes. Even if Sansa or Sandor never said anything of it, Arya knew that their relationship had went beyond friendship. Arya would never ask Sansa of it, and she doubted that her sister would ever say anything to her either. But Arya had read faces for a long time, and she would lie to herself if she said that she did not understand what Sansa had felt for the Hound. Perhaps not love, but something close enough.

Sansa crashed into Arya and embraced her tightly. Arya felt her sister whisper little things into her hair, but she did not say anything. She was still ashamed that she had not brought him back, and she did not think she had the strength to look into Sansa's eyes and take his name.

She moved away from Sansa and realized that her belly had grown since she had left. Or maybe she had not really paid much attention till then. Sansa placed a hand on her stomach and smiled. She kissed Arya on the cheek again, and then there were tears in her eyes.

"Hush, Sansa," Arya joked in a whisper. "You'll embarrass me."

Sansa laughed, and Arya wondered how she had ever managed to hate her. She was emotional and bossy and sometimes an idiot, but Arya wouldn't have chosen anyone else as her sister.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jaime Lannister clearing his throat. Arya sighed and introduced Sansa to him. To her surprise, Sansa greeted him as amicably as anyone could, and let him kiss her hand.

"Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Jaime," her sister said in her usual sweet voice. "I would ask you to rest but I insist that you see my brother first. Bran has been waiting to see you."

Arya scoffed loudly.

"He's not exactly a guest, Sansa. Don't treat him like one."

She heard Sansa sigh, but Jaime was looking at her with amusement.

"I thought I had grown on you, Lady Stark."

"I can still chose to kill you, Ser."

"Your brother wants me to live."

"I can convince my brother."

"Then why haven't you yet?"

This time it was Sansa who cleared her throat. Arya bit her lip and stopped talking. Jaime Lannister bowed respectfully to Sansa and winked at Arya, making her want to stab him in his gut.

When Sansa had Brienne lead him to the Godswood to see Bran, Arya felt herself being pulled away instantly by her. She followed her without a word. When they had reached the top of the stairs, Sansa finally stopped, and turned to her with a face full of worry.

"Jon's coming home."

Arya bit her lip again.

"It's fine, Sansa."

She wasn't naive. She knew that she would have to face Jon sooner or later. Whatever had happened between them, she would look past everything and meet him normally, because no matter how much tumultuous feelings she could feel inside her heart, she still had missed him terribly over the last few weeks. She wanted nothing more than to see his face, even if he was still angry with her. Or if he hated her for what had happened between them. Arya had learned how to pretend. She would pretend that everything was fine and that Jon was still the same person to her. She cursed Jaime Lannister in her mind. That man had put some stupid thoughts in her head, and made her realize things she would have rather not have realized. Her head and her heart were a mess, with the pieces strewn everywhere. But Jon didn't have to know that. Neither did Sansa. And Arya needed to stop thinking.

"Tell me what happened between you?" Sansa asked calmly. Arya almost had the mind to shake her head and leave but then she thought the better of it.

"Nothing much. We fought, and things have been tense that's all. Don't worry about it."

Sansa looked more worried after hearing her words.

"Arya." She held her hand. "I know you're not telling me something."

"It's nothing, Sansa." Arya's heart was racing.

"Arya-"

"It's nothing, Sansa," she insisted. Arya squeezed her hand in return and forced out a smile. She could see that Sansa was not even nearly convinced, but Arya wanted nothing more than to drop the conversation. She would think of Jon when Jon was there in front of her. If she spent any more time thinking of him, she would surely lose her mind. Or worse she would spill everything in her head onto Sansa, which she wanted to avoid at any cost.

"I want to rest," Arya offered as an excuse. Years of being alone had made her well suited to seclusion. Sometimes, all she needed to get her head straight was distance from others.

"Go, then," Sansa told her reluctantly. "Shall I ask someone to prepare a bath?"

Arya shook her head gratefully.

"I want to be alone for a while. I've been tired." She looked at the direction of the Godswood, wondering what Bran was telling the Kingslayer. Sansa noticed that.

"It must be something important," her sister offered.

Arya hummed under her breath. Bran had made her travel for days with an excruciatingly annoying person. Arya would get the truth out of that boy, whatever it was. She dreaded to think of having to see Jaime in Winterfell everyday. She already had a headache thinking of it.

Her chambers had been cleaned and the candles had been lit. Dusk was approaching, and Arya realized that the place had grown colder than the last time she was there. She closed the windows and discarded her cloak on the floor carelessly, moving to sit on her bed. Arya sighed as her backside hit the soft featherbed, and she couldn't stop herself from falling back on it. She closed her eyes briefly, but opened them when she realized that she was still cold. She had been wearing one of Daenerys' gown: a long, flowy material more suited for summers. She had never worn anything like that before. Arya played with the silk hem of the dress, the creamy fabric creasing under her touch, and she closed her eyes again.

A knock on the door made Arya sit up abruptly. She had fallen asleep. She looked around and saw that the candles had burned halfway through. It was night. When she stood up, the cold felt harsh on her skin.

She moved to open the door with one hand, clutching the cloak around her with another. The door opened with a creak and Arya moved her eyes to look at the visitor, only to find a pair of sea blue eyes staring back at her.

Arya let him in. She faced away from him and told him to close the door behind him. She sat on her bed with a thud and looked up at her best friend. Gendry stood quietly in his place only looking at her, and Arya curved the side of her mouth.

"So you finally gather the courage to come visit my chambers?" Her voice was amusing, and she saw that Gendry was visibly surprised by her words. He was expecting her to react differently.

"How are you, Arry?"

Arya closed her eyes. His voice was cracking, and he was nervous. Arya did not know if she was supposed to be mad at him or if she was, but she realized that she had missed him so much, and only that mattered to her now.

"Gendry," she took his name. It had been long since she had said that name. It brought back memories. It had been long since she had kissed him too. Maybe she wanted to. She did not know anymore.

Arya opened her eyes to find him kneeling in front of her. Gendry's eyes were so beautifully blue that it reminded her of Essos, of the waters near the port of Braavos. Blue and bright and striking.

"I would kill myself," Gendry said with a small voice. He was looking at the floor now, refusing to meet her eyes; his hands on her knees. "Don't be mad at me, Arry."

"Shut up, stupid," Arya said with a smile. She ran her fingers through his hair, watching the jet black strands shine in the vermilion candlelight. It was Gendry's turn to close his eyes.

"I do not hate you, stupid," she told him. "I only feel betrayed because you told him. You are my best friend, Gendry. I couldn't hate you even if I tried to."

She regretted mentioning him. She had spent the last few minutes focused only on Gendry, but as soon as she mentioned Jon, his face was all she could see in her mind. She did not want to think of Jon when Gendry was looking at her like that.

Gendry stood up. Arya had to tilt her head up to see him, since he was so much taller than him. Her fingers let go of her cloak as she stood up and wrapped her arms around him. Gendry's body was warm when he held her, and Arya sighed, thinking of Jon again. Jon was warmer, but that was perhaps because he was a dragon.

She leaned up on her toes to reach up and touch his face. Gendry was hesitant at first, but then he welcomed her inviting lips over his own. Arya closed her eyes, wondering if this was enough to make her forget about the other man and keep her attention only on Gendry. His hands were snaking down her back to her waist , and Arya felt him clutch her dress in his big hands and easily pull it over her body.

As soon as she did that, Arya licked her lips. She was bare now, almost. When Gendry moved to kiss her again, Arya let him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pushing herself against him as much as she could. She heard him groan softly against her lips as he made her part her lips and tasted her tongue. Arya's body was filling up with heat.

The kisses stopped when Gendry's hand went below her smallclothes and rested over her breasts. Arya pulled her lips off of him when she felt him squeeze her gently. She gasped and looked at him with wide eyes.

Gendry had stopped. He meant to pull his hand away from her teat, but Arya instantly grabbed his hand and pushed herself against him, at the same time kissing him harshly on the mouth.

Gendry was still hesitant, but as Arya kept kissing him and guiding his hand from one teat to another, Gendry's kisses became more confident. Arya left his mouth for a moment to catch her breath, and Gendry took the opportunity to open his mouth.

"I love you," he whispered.

Arya froze. Gendry had leaned down to kiss the valley between her breasts and was now running his tongue over it.

"I love you," he repeated, and proceeded to kiss down her chest to her stomach, and she felt a flip in her tummy. He softly touched the scar that was forming on the side of her abdomen, and the ones that had always been there: now silver. Arya would've stopped her heart at that moment if she could. Her hands stopped moving, and her body and her mouth and everything.

This man had been her best friend and companion and so much more, and she was betraying him like he meant nothing to her.

"Stop," she mumbled. It hurt her to say those words because she was the one who had started this. He had been nothing but kind to her; perhaps sometimes a little stupid but Arya knew that Gendry loved her. He would never have said those words if he didn't.

Gendry looked up at her and stood up straight. He was not only taller, but bigger too. He towered over her as if she was a little mouse. He had made her feel protected because of that, all those years ago.

"I shouldn't have done that," Gendry said after a few moments of staring at her face. His voice was filled with regret. Arya could not look at his eyes, knowing that what she would say would break his heart and perhaps ruin their friendship.

"Gendry," she whispered. Arya cursed Jon inwardly. This was all because of him. She wanted to forget him, and that was why she had let Gendry go on. It was all Jon's fault. If only he would leave her head.

"You love me," Arya said. When she looked at him finally, she found him already staring at her. Arya remembered her nakedness and clutched her arms tight around herself.

"I love you as well," she confessed, and dreaded the next words that would come out of her mouth. "But not in the way you want me to. You're family, Gendry. You're pack. But you're not-"

She stopped. She heard Gendry's sharp intake of breath. He stopped for minute and then he was pulling his hair tightly with his fingers. He paced away from her with hard steps.

"What the fuck do you want, Arya?"

His voice was harsh and angry.

"You're the one who kissed me first. Why would you do that if you think I'm _family_?"

"I don't know why I did. I wanted to, I _just_ -"

"You're selfish," Gendry shouted at her. "You led me on _knowing_ that this would happen. You love me? How the fuck do you love me, Arry? As a brother? Do you put your tongue in your brothers' mouths?"

Arya closed her eyes again. She did not want to say anything to him. He wouldn't understand, and he would know if she lied. He always has. But Arya did not know how to explain to him what was going on in her head, when she herself did not understand it.

"You're my _family_ ," she repeated again. "I'm sorry, Gendry. I shouldn't have kissed you. I did not know that you loved me in that way."

"How _else_ can you love a person you want to kiss, Arya?" Now, he sounded tired. Arya wanted to take them back to the moment he'd entered her room. She should have hugged him and then told him to go. But maybe she _was_ selfish.

"I don't know," she said in exasperation. She pulled up her cloak and wrapped it around herself. "Leave, Gendry."

"I'm not for you to order as you please, M'lady."

For the first time, she heard disgust in his voice when he called her that. Gendry walked away from her and left, and Arya knew that it was the end of something, like that day when he had refused to come with her to Winterfell. But this- she had a feeling- would be permanent.

Arya locked the door behind him and instantly her fist came in contact with the callous stone wall. She hit it till her fingers bled and till she was out of breath. Tears had stained her cheeks. She sat down on the cold floor and laid her head back against the door. She hated being the person that destroyed everything, but she seemed to leave nothing but sadness in her wake. Jon was angry at her, Sandor had died because of her and now she had lost her best friend. She hated crying, too. But sometimes she had no choice.

Arya sat there for hours, toying with the hilt of Needle. She wanted to sleep, but it wouldn't come. She closed her eyes, again. In vain.

 _Sister_.

Arya sighed. Bran had the most uncanny timing, but Arya was thankful. She was getting used to talking to him this way, especially during the night when none of them seemed to fall asleep easily.

"Can I come and talk to you in person?" She asked him.

 _I'm_ _in the Godswood._

Arya stood up.

"Are you out of your mind?" She fastened her cloak on, and opened the door. "You'll freeze to death. Come back inside."

Bran didn't say anything back, but Arya had already descended the steps down to the yard. She rushed as fast as she could to the Godswood. The snow was thicker and it was hard to walk, and with each second that passed, Arya felt the chill creep inside her furs. Her face was numb. She would kill Bran for this.

She saw his silhouette from afar. The moonlight was bright, and the Godswood eerily silent. No sounds of wolves or shadowcats or even ravens. Arya didn't know where Nymeria was either, and Ghost had possibly left with Jon.

Arya saw him, crouched, under the Heart Tree: one hand touching the bark with the sticky, red sap. Arya had seen magic as a child: Beric and his sword and then in the House of Black and White. She was a warg herself. But Bran's magic was something different. It had made her little brother so strong and wise, but at the same time Arya could see nothing but death and sorrow in Bran's eyes. Like he had seen things that were too much for a boy.

"Bran," she called out loud enough to be heard by him. Arya clutched her cloak tighter. Her furs didn't help her at all.

Bran's back was to her and Arya put a hand on his shoulder when he did not seem to hear her. But as soon as she did, her body felt a terrible coldness, like she was freezing from inside out. Arya's vision blurred and everything went white.

 _Their was ice and ice as far as she could see. At first, she was standing under the Heart Tree, the crimson leaves falling all around her swiftly. But they froze as soon as they touched the ground, turning into chunks of ice._

 _Then_ _she saw another tree, but she knew that it wasn't_ their _Heart Tree. It was bigger, and its branches longer. And the eyes were different. The wind was strong, so strong that Arya was almost swept off her feet. She held on to the trunk and closed her eyes._

 _She_ _called for Bran, but she was alone. When she looked at her hands, they were covered in blood._

Sister _._

 _She_ _turned, relieved to hear Bran but it wasn't him. It was someone else. A man with blue skin and eyes and armour made of pale ice. She remembered Jon describing him once, and she remembered the words as clear as day._

The King.

 _"Bran," she whispered as the man touched her cheek with a finger, cutting through her skin like a knife through butter. Arya felt the blood and sting and also how it froze on her skin. She was shivering and shaking and all the courage had left her body. When the man withdrew his hand, Arya's knees hit the ground and she collapsed with a thud, seeing black._


	37. Jon XI

Chapter 37: Jon XI

It was just two hours after dusk when he reached Winterfell. The snow was still stick, but not as much as it had been the previous night. The sun wasn't warm enough, but they had to endure. Winter was here, and it was harsh. Jon had seen carcasses of animals frozen to death beyond Winterfell up North. He was worried. Bodies of these beasts had been made to withstand the cold, and if they had perished under it, what chance did humans have?

The castle went up in uproar soon after he arrived, not expecting his presence so soon. People gathered and bowed, but Jon thought it all to be unneeded pleasantries. He searched for Sansa, surprised that his cousin had not yet greeted him with a smile on her face.

"Ghost, to me," he called, and the direwolf slipped among the crowd to come and stand near his leg. His red eyes stared at Jon, and he frowned. Ghost bared his sharp, yellow teeth and pulled greedily at Jon's breeches.

"Where to?" Jon asked, and instantly thought himself to be stupid. Why would he ask when all he had to do was follow his friend? He leaned down and scratched Ghost behind the ear, but the direwolf still had his teeth tightly hooked in his clothes. Jon sighed.

"Ser Davos." The man was beside him in seconds. "My bannermen are to gather in the Great Hall by afternoon. And I need to know how many swords have been forged."

"Yes, Your Grace." The man bowed lowly and left. The crowd also dispersed, going back to their early morning chores. The sound of clinking steel fell on his ears and Jon touched Ghost's fur again.

"Take me, boy," he whispered and the wolf whined. Jon followed Ghost up the stairs to the balcony, and from there down the corridors to the bedchambers.

He passed Sansa's. He had a mind to knock on it and ask if she was well, but he saw that it was ajar and that no one was inside. He looked ahead. Only three doors down was Arya's chambers. His heart sank. He knew she would be inside. He had seen Nymeria through Ghost's eyes, hunting around Winterfell, and the direwolf would never be there if Arya wasn't home. What wouldn't he do to see her face again and hold her in his arms and kiss her hair. He had even dreamt of her, while he had laid against his furs under the dark winter skies. He barely remembered what he had they had been about, but he could make out her face in his mind's eye. She was smiling. Or laughing. He did not really care which; but she was _happy_.

He released a breath, and it flew out of his mouth like smoke. Jon took another step when Ghost start becoming impatient, and he told himself that he would see her. Everything else could wait, even Ghost. He would enter her room like nothing had happened, and he would smile at her like he had not spent the last weeks being tormented by the thought of her. Like he had not prayed to his Gods and every other God's name he had ever heard to keep her safe. Like he had not felt daggers thrusting at his heart when he had heard King's Landing had burned, and thinking that she could have been there when it did. Sansa's raven had brought him peace, but not enough.

He would smile at Arya, and all would be forgiven and forgotten, because nothing else mattered when it came to her. He could live with his sinful thoughts and his painful heart if only she would always be with him. That was what he had always wanted.

But strangely enough, Ghost stopped at her door as well, his feet mimicking Jon's own as they both ceased their movement. Jon looked with narrowed eyes at his wolf, and then smiled. Perhaps Ghost had known what he truly wanted, and he had led her to him. Jon mussed his fur, and with his other hand, pushed open the wooden door.

It wasn't Arya he saw, however. Only red hair, only Sansa. But Sansa wasn't alone. Bran was there too, sitting beside the bed, and when Jon looked over Sansa's shoulder, he saw her, leaning against the headboard of her bed, her hair unkempt and flowing and a scar as blue as frost on her cheek, from under her eyelid down to her chin. Jon flinched. His hands fisted in rage and he clenched his teeth till his jaw hurt. Arya met his eyes, and suddenly, Jon felt terrible fear in his heart.

"What happened?" He asked aloud, to no one in particular. His eyes were fixed on her, and hers on his own.

"It was the Night King," Sansa whispered. Her voice was as much shaky as his.

"He was here?" He asked in shock. It wasn't possible. The Wall was still standing when he had left, and they couldn't be in Winterfell without crossing the Wall.

No one spoke, and Jon grew impatient. He finally took his eyes away from her, and placed them on Bran, opening his mouth to repeat his question.

"I had a vision," Bran explained, and Jon watched as Arya reached out to take his hand and squeezed it. Bran paused briefly, then seemed to swallow empty air.

"She happened to touch me while I was... _inside_. And she went in with me. But he saw her, and touched her and-"

Bran stopped. Jon felt coldness in his veins.

"It wasn't his fault," Arya spoke for the first time. "He didn't know, and neither did I." Her voice grew as she spoke. She was scared that Jon would say something to Bran, and Jon didn't blame her. If Bran was anyone else but Bran, he would have crushed him with this bare hands by now.

"She's been cold," Sansa told him. "Her skin was pale blue when we found her. But the color come back by the morning. She's still cold to the touch."

Jon's hands shook. His worst nightmare floated before his eyes: Arya, blue and dead and not warm. The knives were there again, stabbing at his heart and almost tearing it apart to pieces.

"I'm warm enough, Sansa." Jon wanted to applaud her for acting strong, but at the same time it infuriated him. "And it's over. I'm safe. He cannot reach me now."

 _No he can't. Not now. But he will._

"You must be tired," Sansa offered.

Jon shook his head.

"I want to stay," he said, again looking only at Arya. She looked away this time, but Jon was insistent as he walked over to her bed and stood.

Sansa hummed softly. She walked over to Arya's side and kissed her forehead gently. Arya smiled at her, and then she again squeezed Bran's hand in her own. A look passed between then, and Bran nodded at her before Sansa pulled him away. Jon avoided looking at them. His eyes were only on Arya, who had now sat up straighter in her bed. The door closed, and Jon heard her sigh, still avoiding his gaze. He pulled off the glove of his right hand, and gently passed the back of it over her cheek. The scar was cold to his touch and Arya hissed.

"Little wolf," he whispered in a breath. Arya's eyes fluttered and she looked up at him. Jon sat. Her bed was soft, and creaked when he laid his weight upon it. His hand never left her face.

"Do not blame Bran," she said. Her eyes looked greyer, Jon noticed. "He did not mean to. He would never hurt me. You know that."

Jon did not say anything, and only concentrated on the feel of her skin as his thumb traced the curve of her chin. She was cold.

"Did he frighten you?" He asked.

Arya nodded her head.

"He wasn't _scary_ , not really. He was just cold. So cold that I felt like he had frozen the blood inside me. It wasn't _him_ that scared me. It was realization that I couldn't move, or speak. I was numb. A horrible way to die, I think."

Jon moved his fingers down her neck, hearing Arya's catch of breath.

"You will not die like that," Jon promised, tasting the insincerity of the words on his tongue. "You will die warm and old, with Nymeria by your side. Perhaps even Ghost."

"Will you be there?" Arya asked. Her voice was a hush now. She had closed her eyes, and Jon's hand had not stopped moving. It was on her chest now, tracing small and feathery circles over her skin.

"I don't know." His hands stopped and he looked up. His heart ached as he smiled at her. "Do you want me to be?"

Arya bit her lip. An old habit, Jon knew. But all of a sudden, the act was so tempting to him that he ached to touch her lip with his thumb. He fisted his hand again, but when he opened it the ache was still there.

"I wish sometimes," he confessed. "That I had never put that sword in your hands. Now you run towards death with every step you take. And you won't listen to me if I tell you to stop."

Arya bit her lip again. Jon clenched his teeth.

"What do you want me to do then? Stay in my castle while everyone risks their lives to save the kingdoms? I would not let an icy bastard anywhere near Winterfell or my people. I have to fight for those who can't fight for themselves. We all do, don't we?"

"Not at the cost of you." Jon's voice broke. " _Never_ at the cost of you. If you can run to your death for them, can't you be tempted to live? For me?"

Arya laughed, the sound falling like warm embers on his skin.

"Maybe I will live. Who knows? I have been helpless Jon, and I won't be that girl again even if it means provoking my death."

Jon should be proud of her. He could be, only if he wasn't so selfish. His hand resumed it's ministrations, but this time they were delving down the valley between her breasts, and Jon did it so slowly it was as if his hand didn't move at all. He was crossing an invisible boundary. He looked at her to find her stare transfixed on him. He found no reason to stop.

His hands rested there, anxious and careful. Arya had wriggled to make her furs fall from her body. She had also warmed, and her cheeks were glowing. Her tunic had bunched up below her breasts and Jon moved his hand downwards, touching the warm skin on her belly. It convulsed under him, and Jon had to grip the edge of the bed roughly with his hand when Arya arched her body just a little. She let out a gasp that travelled through him like shivers.

"Tell me of your scars," Jon whispered, playing with the silver marks with the tips of his fingers. They reminded him of his own, as deep as hers were. They were so familiar. And yet.

"An assassin stabbed me," Arya said, her eyes closed but Jon could hear her voice being distant. "She pushed me into the water."

"What happened then?"

Arya gasped again when Jon traced his fingernail over a healed scar.

"A woman helped me. She was kind to me, and reminded me of Mother. Her soup was terrible, but it kept me alive. Until-"

Jon looked up from her stomach.

"Until," she continued. "She was killed by the assassin. She chased after me too, and I ran all over Braavos, with open stitches and blood. But then I killed her. With Needle."

Jon clenched his jaw. Of all the ways he would have wanted Arya to grow up, this was not one of them. It pained him to think that she was alone in the world, fighting and bleeding and almost dying.

He stopped for a while. The story had clearly brought back memories, and Arya seemed to stare at thin air. But after a while she shook her head as if to scatter the memories away, and looked at Jon with eyes shining like glass.

"And this?" He asked, without looking away from her face. This time he touched the one on the side of her abdomen. One which was new. He knew where she must have gotten it, but he did not know how. He wanted to.

"It was the Mountain. His sword pierced me as I meant to escape. Sandor was there too. I left but he stayed. I couldn't save him."

Jon didn't know how close Arya and the Hound were. He had only ever seen them bickering and fighting. But Arya seemed to be hurt at the thought of him, and Jon understood that they must have been friends. He was in awe of her. She was a survivor. The scars were proof enough of that.

Jon leaned down and pressed a kiss against one of her scars. Arya seemed to be surprised, and her hand instantly went to his shoulder. Jon remembered the taste of her lips on his own. It was still so fresh in his memory, even if he had tried to forget it with all his will. He could even taste it anew on his tongue if he tried hard enough.

"Jon," she whispered. He remembered the scent of the rose he had once tucked behind her ear, and now he thought that he could smell it on her skin.

Jon kissed her again, softly, chastely, until he was pouring kisses all over her stomach. Arya pulled at his hair for him to stop. He didn't care.

"Stop this," she blurted suddenly, and Jon paused. He looked up at her, only to see her eyes now glassed over with tears. Her lips were drawn in a line.

"I will not do this to her," Arya said. Her eyes were shining. Jon wanted to kiss them. "Daenerys is your wife. And I'm not cruel."

Jon moved away. He almost didn't believe her words, but when Arya went deathly silent, Jon laughed.

"And you care _so_ deeply for Daenerys?" He asked. He did not mean for the words to feel so bitter on his tongue, or for his voice to sound so biting. "Since when have you become so close?"

Arya's eyes flared.

"I do not need to be friends with her." She looked away from him. "Why can't we go back to being brothers? This thing between us- it's splitting my heart open. I'm going mad."

Jon caressed her face again. The scar made her look no less heavenly.

"And you think I want this? I've been tortured by my own mind for months. You are in my thoughts as much as in my dreams. I would change this if I could. But I can't."

"Try," she insisted. Her voice was small.

"We were never siblings," he said after a while. "Not in truth."

"What does that change?"

"Perhaps nothing." Jon pulled on his glove. "Perhaps, everything."

He stood up tall. Leaning down, he kissed her lightly on her brow, knowing that no matter how much Arya would insist, these kisses would never be enough for either of them.

"Husband," Daenerys greeted him. Jon kissed her cheek and she smiled. She looked the same but for the tired look on her face.

"Have you been well, Your Grace?"

She nodded.

"What happened to your third dragon?" Jon asked. He had noticed that she had only flown inside Winterfell with two: black and green.

"He's gone," she replied in a small voice. "Killed by his brothers because he tried to harm me."

Jon nodded. He did not know what else to day. Perhaps he should have taken her in his arms like a husband would, but that word had always left a bad taste in his mouth.

Jon kissed her cheek again, as a means of compassion. Daenerys seemed to accept that, as she took his arm and walked inside Jon's solar. Lord Tyrion followed shortly behind, accompanied by his brother, whom Jon had felt no joy to see.

Ser Davos was already there. And his cousins and Lady Brienne, Sam and Tormund. Jon looked at Arya through the corner of his eyes. She was leaning against the hearth, hands crossed in front of her.

Jon cleared his throat after he had seated.

"The swords, Ser Davos?"

"Four hundred, Your Grace. All Valyrian Steel."

Jon nodded. They would not be even nearly enough, but he did not have a choice.

"The Wall stands strong," he began. "But that will not be for long. They march towards Castle Black as we speak. We cannot let them take down the Wall and come down South."

"We will hold them off," Daenerys said. "I will fly with my dragons today if I have to."

Jon shook his head.

"We have to do it together. And my cousins will stay in Winterfell, with the army of the Vale. I hope it never comes to it, but Winterfell must not fall. If it does, we will have little chance of stopping them."

"Except Arya."

Everyone turned to her, and Jon did too. She looked at him with a brow raised. He did not say anything. Tyrion and Jaime Lannister looked amused.

"Except Arya," Daenerys agreed. They all paused for a while, surprised at her words, but Jon saw his wife nod slightly at Arya, and she nodded back. He had no say in it, not that he ever did. Arya had made up her mind, and everyone but him seemed to agree.

"Lady Brienne shall stay here to protect Sansa and Bran." The Lady Knight nodded. "Everyone else will come to Castle Black. And soon. Time is slipping."

And with every moment that passed, Jon dreaded more and more than nothing would be enough. Not wolves, not Valyrian Steel.

Not even dragons.


End file.
